


Learning to Dance

by daysofinspiration



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daysofinspiration/pseuds/daysofinspiration
Summary: Lucy Fabray is eight years old when she’s told she can’t live with her mother for a little while. All the rules she’s learned no longer apply, but someone teaches her to take the steps to becoming herself.





	1. The First Lesson

The snow on the ground is a dirty grey colour, like someone tried to paint the canvas with white paint but the brush was dirty from using browns and blacks beforehand. It’s chunky, depressing-looking slush.

Lucy is eight years old when she’s told she can’t live with her mother for a little while. She hasn’t seen her father in months – he’s on a business trip in Spain. Lucy wasn’t allowed to go with him, but Angela, his secretary, was.

When her father went away her mother began drinking. Lucy was used to seeing her mother have a glass of wine after dinner every night. But a glass became two, and after dinner became before dinner and before dinner became before Lucy got home from school. Lucy’s mother was also on medication, which she began taking more and more. “They’re for my head, honey, you know how I get migraines.”

Lucy knows that they’re antidepressants.

Her mother is being investigated to see if she is a fit parent. She needs to clean up; stop drinking and medicating. Lucy doesn’t have any close relatives, so she has to go live with another family until she can go back to being with her mother.

She only stayed at the first family for two weeks. She didn’t get along with the other children there. One boy punched her when she told him it wasn’t right to use the Lord’s name in vain – something her mother’s always told her.

She stayed at the second family for just under a month, but it didn’t really work out there either. She didn’t stop screaming when one of the girls puts a snake in her bed. Lucy is terrified of snakes.

It’s Friday afternoon, the last day of school before winter vacation, and Lucy spent most of it in the Child Services building, waiting until her new foster parent picked her up. Now Lucy sits in one of the middle row seats of the van, watching familiar streets turn to unfamiliar ones. They had a really bad snowfall last week, so by now all the snow is dirty and beaten down, yellowing and browning and trampled with footprints.

It isn’t white and pure like in the movies. It’s dirty and stomped on and not the way it’s supposed to be. Much like her life right now. She has to keep changing schools with each new family she lives with. She has to keep being the new girl. She has to keep readjusting to new house rules.

She’s eight years old. She hasn’t seen her father in months. And she isn’t allowed to live with her mother. She is eight years old, a quasi-perfectionist, and she knows this isn’t the way a young girl’s life is supposed to be.

(Don’t frown like that, Lucy, you’ll get ugly lines and need Botox before you turn thirty.)

Lucy takes a slow breath and pulls up a blank expression as she watches the houses pass by. The homes in this area aren’t as big as her house is, but they aren’t that small. Mrs Pierce, her new foster mother, hums along with the radio as she drives, fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel every little while. She’d smiled warmly when she’d first met Lucy, and offered a hand to lead her out to the car. Lucy had hesitated in taking it – this was a stranger, Lucy didn’t trust her yet. But Mrs Pierce didn’t seem to notice, dropping her hand to pick up Lucy’s bag instead and lead her outside.

The woman seemed nice. More lively than the last woman, who was run-down looking and always had bags under her eyes.

(Always make sure you get a proper sleep at night, Lucy, bags aren’t attractive.)

They turn onto a quiet street and Mrs Pierce pulls into the second house on the left. The Christmas lights are up and there are red decorative bows hanging from the outdoor lights on the garage. Through the front window, Lucy can already see a Christmas tree up and decorated.

They get out of the car – Mrs Pierce carrying her bag – and Lucy quietly follows the woman up the snow shovelled walk to the front of the house. It isn’t that cold outside, but when she steps inside Lucy feels a warmth rush into her bones. It feels like a real home here, warm and inviting and smelling like cinnamon.

Lucy’s home with her mother is big and cold and empty. There’s fancy furniture Lucy isn’t allowed to sit on and expensive decor Lucy isn’t allowed to touch. The floor is always cold under her feet, and all the rooms seem big and lonely.

Lucy crouches to undo the laces of her black winter boots (Always undo the laces, Lucy, don’t just kick your shoes off, you’ll ruin them) and slides them off, placing them neatly on the mat next to the other many pairs of shoes and boots. She straightens up and unzips her coat, tugging it from her small body.

“I’ll take that, dear,” Mrs Pierce says, opening the front hall closet and taking a coat hanger for herself and one for Lucy’s jacket. Lucy silently hands over her coat, trying not to smile at the coat hangers. She likes coat hangers; they keep closets neat and tidy. Quasi-perfectionist.

The last family hadn’t believed in coat hangers. Lucy had hated it.

(Don’t be rude and judgemental, Lucy, if someone runs their house differently. Just because they can’t afford a maid service doesn’t mean you need to look down on them.)

Mrs Pierce closes the closet and motions down the hall, “Roger and the kids are out back, come and meet them.”

“Thank you for letting me stay at your house, Mrs Pierce,” Lucy says quickly, knowing her manners.

(God doesn’t love rude little girls, Lucy.)

Mrs Pierce laughs, smiling with her lips and with her eyes, “Oh, honey, of course. And call me Mary, please.” She begins walking, leading Lucy down the hall.

In the car Mrs. Pierce had explained to her that she and her husband have two daughters of their own and two other foster children, both boys. Lucy isn’t sure why they’d want to take in other children if they have two of their own to love, but doesn’t ask. It’s rude to question people, especially adults. And Lucy doesn’t want to be rude.

She follows the woman through the house. The walls are a creamy beige colour – all the walls at Lucy’s house are white, ever her bedroom – and there are a few children’s toys scattered here and there. Not messy, just a few things out of place. The mantle in the den above the fireplace is covered in pictures and knick knacks. The couch looks comfortable and lived in.

It all looks so different from what she’s used to. Her house is cold and silent, not warm and inviting like this. The last house was messy and cluttered and overrun. The first house was dark and everyone there frowned.

Each home she goes to is a new learning experience. Lucy has to keep re-learning how to fit herself into other people’s worlds. It’s hard.

They arrive in the kitchen and Lucy looks out the back door, her eyes catching movement. There are children running around in the snow – she can hear them laughing.

Mrs Pierce slides open the door, startling the man sitting on a deck chair, reading the newspaper and holding a steaming mug. It isn’t too cold outside, the sun is warm and bright. The man isn’t wearing gloves, or a coat – just a heavy sweater.

“Roger,” Mrs Pierce says as the man turns to look at them. “This is Lucy Fabray.”

Mr Pierce puts his mug and newspaper down on the table – half of which has been wiped of snow - and offers Lucy his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lucy, I hope you like it here.”

Lucy takes his hand and shakes it, like she’s been taught to do whenever she’s introduced to someone.

(Always shake their hand, Lucy, it’s the sign of a good and properly raised little girl.)

When she drops Mr Pierce’s hand she looks out at the lawn. There are a swing set and clubhouse attached to it in on one side and a great big tree on the other. Along the back fence she can see where Mrs Pierce would have her garden when it wasn’t winter.

There are four children running around in winter boots and coats. All of them have gloves on. One has a big fuzzy scarf on. The two smaller ones have hats on.

There’s a little blonde haired girl, maybe six years old, sitting on one of the swings, hair blowing as she pumps herself higher and higher. A little brown haired boy is sitting on the ground under the clubhouse, making a snow castle with a bucket and shovel. He can’t be older than four.

The two older kids are running back and forth across the yard, laughing wildly chasing each other. The blonde girl looks Lucy’s age; she’s the one with the fuzzy scarf. The boy has tanned skin and looks two of three years older, and he’s making roaring noises as he chases the girl across the yard. She giggles and runs in a tight circle around the base of the clubhouse, avoiding getting hit by the swing, and takes a running leap, grabbing onto the bottom of the clubhouse. She kicks her legs and then is climbing up until she grips the base of the roof and can swing herself inside the small room through the doorway next to where she climbed up. There’s a ladder but the girl has avoided it all together.

“Brittany, I’ve told you not to do that,” Mrs Pierce calls. “Everyone come over here, there’s someone I’d like you all to meet.”

The girl, Brittany, slides down the ladder, jumping the last few rungs and nearly tackling the older boy as he runs past her and leaps up onto the deck. Brittany bends and scoops up the little boy and carries him over as the smaller blonde girl digs her feet into the ground and skips off the swing.

The four children all line up in front of Lucy on the deck, red-nosed and breathing out visible puffs of air. The older girl and boy are breathing heavily. The little boy’s pants are damp from sitting in the snow.

(A good little girl doesn’t roll around and play in the snow like a heathen, Lucy, she stays inside and acts like a lady.)

“Everyone,”Mrs. Pierce says, smiling, “This is Lucy. She’ll be staying with us for the next little while.”

The children all smile back. The little boy waves.

“Lucy, this is Anthony,” she indicates the older, tanned boy. “Jacob,” the little one in Brittany’s arms. “And my daughters Brittany and Kelsey,” she points to the two blondes.

“Hello,” Lucy says, trying not to sound demure. Even though she’s a little nervous she forces a smile, standing strong and firm before them.

(Being shy isn’t attractive, Lucy, you don’t want to be the girl with no friends.)

“Brittany,” Mr. Pierce says, “Why don’t you show Lucy up to your room, help her get settled in?”

Brittany nods happily and sets Jacob down on the deck. She skips past Lucy and pulls open the door and then turns, waiting for Lucy.

She’s turning to follow when, “Oh, Lucy, honey,” Mrs. Pierce says, reaching out a hand but stopping short so it hovers just above her shoulder, not quite touching her. “What would you like for dinner?”

Lucy turns back and blinks, her mind blank. “I… pardon me?” She asks, remembering her manners.

(Don’t say ‘what?’ or ‘huh,’ Lucy, it isn’t attractive. Speak like a proper little girl, not some uneducated foreigner.)

“It’s your first night here, I’ll make something special. Your choice.”

Lucy remains silent, staring at the woman. This is her house, not Lucy’s. Lucy is only a guest. She doesn’t understand why she is being offered to pick their meal. She’ll eat whatever is placed in front of her, like she’s been taught to. She’s never gotten to pick a meal while at a stranger’s house before.

“I…”

Mrs Pierce smiles kindly at her, but Lucy doesn’t know how to reply. She wants to be polite, but she doesn’t know what the polite thing to do is in this situation; is she supposed to say she’ll eat whatever the woman makes, or is she supposed to ask her to make something? Her mind swirls. She starts to panic. She doesn’t know what to do.

Brittany, who is still standing at the back door, is watching Lucy with a curious smile. It takes a moment, but eventually, she offers, “Mom makes really good spaghetti.”

She’s saving her, Lucy realises. Brittany’s noticed that Lucy doesn’t know what to do and is offering her an out. “Oh, that…” She stumbles over her words as she tries to be polite, “That sounds lovely.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

Lucy nods once (You aren’t a dog, Lucy, don’t bob your head up and down like one) and says, “Yes. Spaghetti sounds nice.” 

Mrs Pierce smiles, “Alright then.”

Seeing she’s been dismissed, Lucy turns and follows Brittany inside. Brittany doesn’t say anything about the interaction that just happened, she simply hums happily and then closes the sliding door once Lucy is inside.

Lucy’s stockings are a little wet. Mrs Pierce slipped on a pair of slippers at the back door before stepping outside. Lucy stood on the shovelled porch in her stockings. It wasn’t like it had freshly snowed, but her feet feel damp now. Her toes are cold. She wiggles them, waiting.

Brittany is leaning one hand on a kitchen chair as she tugs off a winter boot, carefully trying to stay on the back mat and not get water on the floor. A goofy smile appears as she let’s go of the chair for a moment and nearly topples over. She takes her coat off and holds it in one hand and picks up the boots in another. The scarf stays on.

“Come on,” Brittany insists happily, leading Lucy down the hall. She drops the boots haphazardly on the front mat with the others and fiddles with her coat until it’s secure on a hanger and then puts it in the closet. Lucy doesn’t say anything, she just watches.

“You’re pretty quiet, aren’t you?” Brittany asks. Her tone isn’t rude, just curious. When Lucy isn’t quick enough to come up with a proper answer Brittany bends and picks up Lucy’s duffle bag and begins skipping up the stairs. Lucy marvels for a moment. She’s never seen anyone manage to skip up stairs before. She shakes her head, snapping herself out of it, and hastily follows Brittany.

The bannister has Christmas garland wrapped around it. There are small decorations on it too, and lights. As if it was a second Christmas tree.

They reach the top of the stairs and Lucy follows Brittany down the hall. There’s a big grandfather clock, and lots of pictures on the walls. The door Brittany leads her through has a colouring book sheet of paper taped on the door. It has all the Disney princesses on it – all coloured-in exactly the way they are on their movie covers - and underneath in red crayon is written, _No boys!_

The bedroom has bright yellow walls, and on top of the carpet in the middle of the room is a throw-rug. It’s a watermelon. There’s a big window right across from the door with long white curtains hanging on either side. Against the two side walls are two bunkbeds, each with a different coloured comforter; a map of the Hundred Acre Wood, pink and blue flowers, white with purple polka-dots, and the _One Hundred and One Dalmatians_. Lucy’s eyes skitter back and forth across the room, taking in all the colours. It’s just so _bright._

Brittany dumps her bag in the middle of the room, right on top of the watermelon rug, and smiles brightly at Lucy. “Hi,” she says, grinning wider. This girl likes to smile.

(It’s polite to smile, Lucy, but you should never smile too much, it isn’t ladylike.)

“Hello,” she replies.

“That one’s mine and Kelsey’s,” Brittany explains, looking towards the beds on the left with the Dalmatians and the flowers on the covers. “When the last girl left I told Kells she could sleep on the other side but she was too lazy to move.” She nods up to the top bunk, which has an assortment of dolls and stuffed animals. So does the bottom bunk, but they’re all neatly lined up against the footboard.

“Oh,” Lucy says, unsure how to respond to this.

“Well,” Brittany laughs, looking at the right-side beds, “Which one do you want. Top or bottom?”

Lucy eyes the two sleeping options warily; she’s never slept in a bunk bed before. At first, she thinks the bottom is a better idea, but then she wonders, what happens if the bed breaks in the middle of the night? The top bunk would crush her.

The top bunk then. But then, if she’s in the top bunk when this happens, it would be a bigger fall and she might get hurt in the rubble.

So her eyes go back to the bottom bunk. Except the top bunk seems more private, more like her own space. She could hide up there and no one would bother her.

She looks at the top bunk again. But what if she wakes up in the middle of the night and bangs her head on the ceiling? It’s really high up there.

“Bottom,” she says, knowing she’ll just jump back and forth and not be able to make a decision.

“Good choice,” Brittany smiles, tossing her bag onto the bed with the polka-dot covers. “Kells falls sometimes, when she’s still half asleep and trying to climb down the ladder in the morning. It’s pretty funny.”

Lucy hadn’t thought of that.

“Me and Kelsey keep our stuff in the closet. You can put all your clothes in the dresser. Did you want me to help you unpack?” She asks this all in one breath.

“That’s alright,” Lucy breaths out.

Brittany nods, “Okay. Did you want some time to be alone or did you want me to stay or…” she trails off, smiling and waiting for Lucy to answer.

This is Brittany’s room. Lucy shouldn’t be allowed to make her leave. “You can stay if you want.”

Brittany smiles bigger, Lucy’s picked the right answer. “Okay!” She bounces over to the small table under the window and picks up a colouring book and a handful of markers and plops down on her bed, giving Lucy some privacy to unpack. She lies on her stomach, feet kicking in the air as she works, humming to herself.

Lucy unzips her bag and begins removing everything, placing her neatly folded clothes in piles on the bedspread. Skirts, dresses, stockings and socks and underwear, pyjamas, shirts, and two pairs of pants.

(Little girls wear dresses, Lucy, no matter how cold.)

Once everything is nearly piled on the bed, Lucy hesitantly walks over to the dresser. Brittany is still humming to herself, not paying attention to what she’s doing. But Lucy still feels a little weird, unpacking her clothes in someone else’s room. She organises them into stacks in the drawers, proper clothes in one, stockings, socks, underwear, and pyjamas in another. She only takes up two of the five drawers though, not sure exactly how much space she is allowed.

She looks at the rest of the things on her bed. A small bag with her hairbrush, toothbrush, and a few hair ribbons, headbands and hair ties. A pencil case with a few things she always needs for school – she doesn’t have any notebooks, the teachers always give her new ones when she starts at a new school. And her favourite book, _A Little Princess_.

Lucy doesn’t look the way she pictures little Sara Crewe in her head, with a pretty face, shining blue eyes, and perfectly curled blonde hair. Lucy has glasses, even though she’s only eight. She has eyes that can’t decide if they want to be brown or green. She has messy, dirty-blonde-almost-ugly-brown hair that doesn’t always cooperate. And she has her father’s nose.

She isn’t prim and tiny-skinny, the way she pictures Sara. And she isn’t tall and lanky-skinny, like Brittany sitting on the other side of the room. Lucy isn’t big, she just knows she’s not skinny, not like her mother wants.

But Lucy likes to pretend sometimes, likes to imagine herself like little Sara. Sara always says every girl’s a princess, but sometimes Lucy doesn’t feel like a princess. She feels like a bother, having to jump from house to house and learn all the rules over and over again. She isn’t Sara, she wasn’t sent to a boarding school where she can have adventures. She doesn’t have a big imagination like Sara, she doesn’t know how to make-believe like that. But when she reads, sometimes it feels like she knows how.

Most of her things stayed back at her mother’s house. She was only allowed to bring a few things with her when she started moving houses. In her bedroom, there is a bookshelf filled with all kinds of books, but she only brought the one, there wasn’t room in her bag to bring too many.

She moves all her things neatly to the end of the bed, folding up the duffle bag and placing it there too, and then stalls. She’s a little unsure of what to do now. Brittany is still lying on her bed, tongue poking out as she colours intently, hand flying back and forth across the page. She’s in her own little world, unaware that Lucy has finished.

(Never interrupt someone when they’re working, Lucy, it's rude and not becoming.)

Lucy sits down on the bed, tucking her legs to one side and turning the edge of the blanket over her still cold toes, and picks up her book. She’s read it many times already, but it’s her favourite so she doesn’t mind.

The two girls sit in silence with their books as the sun starts to dip lower. Eventually, the little boy, Jacob, totters into the room and goes right over to Brittany. Lucy glances up when he enters the room, but Brittany’s so focused she doesn’t notice him.

He sneaks right up next to her and then exclaims, “Look what I made!”

Brittany jumps and sits up, giggling, and looks down to see what he’s presenting to her in his outstretched palms.

“Is that a play-doh puppy?”

“Yeah!”

She picks up the dog and inspects it, smiling. Always smiling. “It looks so good, you’re like a little artist, Jake!” She drops the dog down on the bed and pulls him up into her arms. He wiggles, trying to get away, and then starts shrieking happily as she starts tickling him. Lucy watches them, fascinated.

When Jake is nearly laughing so hard he’s crying Brittany lets him go. He slumps to the floor, gasping and still laughing. “Evil Brittany.”

“Well, you just came in here looking so cute and all. I couldn’t help myself.”

He growls at her. “We’re supposed to come down for dinner now.”

Jacob reaches for the play-doh dog again but Brittany swats his hands away, “No, no, no mister. You need to go wash your hands.” She looks over at Lucy, looking bright and happy. “Lucy?”

Lucy nods, slipping in her bookmark and putting the book down on the bed, and follows Brittany and Jacob to the bathroom.

(Always wash your hands before you eat, Lucy. Always.)

At the last two houses, they weren’t told to wash their hands before meals, all the other children simply plopped down and began eating, even if they’d been playing outside. Lucy always went and washed her hands first though. Even at school, she’d wash her hands before eating her lunch.

Lucy’s happy that at this house, they have to wash their hands. It brings a shy smile to her face as she rinses the floral scented bubbles from her hands and delicately dries them on the hand towel. Brittany wipes her hands on her pants, and Jacob just shakes his dry, but Lucy doesn’t mind.

Brittany scoops Jacob into her arms and nods for Lucy to follow her down the stairs to the dining room; there isn’t enough room for everyone to eat at the kitchen table, Brittany explains.

Lucy and her mother and father always ate in the dining room.

(Kitchens are for cooking, Lucy, dining rooms are for eating.)Silently she sits in the empty chair next to Brittany; Kelsey sitting on Brittany’s other side. The boys are sitting across from them.

Silently she sits in the empty chair next to Brittany; Kelsey sitting on Brittany’s other side. The boys are sitting across from them. Mrs Pierce sweeps along behind them all, placing plates down in front of them. Mr Pierce asks Lucy what she wants to drink.

“Milk, please.”

Water for breakfast, juice for lunch, milk for dinner, that’s how it’s always been for years. Her mother insists for a healthy, balanced diet, and that includes drinks.

On the plate in front of her is a helping of spaghetti. The noodles are pale and steaming, and the red sauce on top has bits of vegetable and meat in it. It smells wonderful. There’s also a small serving of salad on the plate.

“Mom,” Brittany complains immediately, “Lucy asked for spaghetti, not spaghetti and salad.”

Anthony flicks a crouton at her from across the table. Mr Pierce shakes his head and scolds the boy, smiling.

“Just eat your dinner, Brittany,” Mrs Pierce says as she sits down, but she has a smile on too. Everyone smiles here.

Anthony pipes in, looking at the boy next to him, “Jake doesn’t have to have salad.”

“Jake is four and has carrots instead. Eat your dinner.”

Next to her, Brittany wears a wicked grin and dips her head down towards her plate.

“With your fork, Brittany,” Her father says without looking up. Brittany pouts in defeat.

As they all begin eating Lucy holds back the frown. So far none of the houses she’s been to does it like they do at her house; they all just start eating. But she doesn’t complain, because that would be rude. Instead, she sits still for a moment, saying a silent Grace like her mother taught her, and then picks up her fork and begins eating.

After she’s had a few bites Mrs. Pierce asks, “How do you like it, Lucy?”

She finishes chewing and swallows before she answers, “It’s wonderful, Mrs Pierce.”

“Mom makes the best spaghetti!” Kelsey chimes in.

Mrs Pierce’s eyes are kind and gentle as she says, “I’m glad you like it.” It makes something warm bubble inside Lucy’s stomach, but it isn’t the food.

They talk as they eat, sharing stories and telling jokes. It’s all very loud and excited. Dinners are silent at home for Lucy, but she doesn’t mind listening to them. Brittany talks about something she accomplished today but Lucy can’t quite figure out what she’s talking about. Kelsey talks about how she thinks Charity has learned to fetch; Lucy hasn’t noticed a dog in the house yet.

Mr Pierce tries asking Lucy a few questions about herself, but when she doesn’t answer right away Mrs Pierce steers the conversation to asking her husband if he’s working late at all the upcoming week. Mrs Pierce is trying to give her space and get adjusted. It’s nice.

Lucy finishes all that’s on her plate, not because she’s been told to, but because it’s actually really good.

(When you’re a guest in someone’s home, Lucy, you eat what is given to you. No matter what it tastes like, you must be polite and finish it.)

Anthony, Mr Pierce, and Kelsey all have second helpings. Lucy really likes the pasta, but declines when Mr Pierce offers her more.

(Little girls don’t take second helpings, Lucy; second helpings don’t help with tiny waists.)

When she’s finished eating, Lucy tucks her knife into the prongs of her fork, like her mother’s taught her, and places them at two o’clock on the plate. Her mother insists on proper table manners. She finishes her drink and waits patiently for everyone else to finish eating.

At the last two houses, people just left the table when they were done, without being excused. Lucy hadn’t liked that, it made her panic a bit when the foster parents gave her weird looks when she asked if she was allowed to leave the table.

When everyone’s finished Mrs Pierce stands and begins to clear the table. Lucy stands too and picks up her plate, she knows this part. They all clear the table and bring their dishes to the kitchen. Then Brittany tugs Lucy’s shirt to lead her away.

Lucy excuses herself to the washroom first, to wash her hands.

(It isn’t ladylike to have food on your hands, Lucy, not ladylike at all.)

When she finishes, she finds the other kids in the den. Jacob is sitting on the floor, building something from Lego pieces. Anthony has contorted his body as he lies across the loveseat, limbs hanging everywhere. Brittany is lying on the couch (Never put your feet on the furniture, Lucy. _Never._ ), Kelsey sitting on Brittany’s legs, and there’s a small brown kitten sitting in Kelsey’s lap.

When Brittany sees Lucy she shifts her sister and herself, making room, and beckoning Lucy to join them on the couch. Lucy sits down demurely, spreading her skirt and crossing her legs at the ankle.

“Friday’s are movie night,” Anthony explains as he flicks the remote through the channels.

Kelsey opens her mouth, “I want to watch-”

“Kells, its Lucy’s first day, she should get to pick,” Brittany interrupts, poking her sister in the side.

Lucy still isn’t used to this whole ‘let her pick things’ thing this family is doing yet. It’s a new rule she’s going to have to adjust to.

She puts on a smile, “Whatever you want is fine.” She looks at the younger girl, “You can pick something for me.”

Kelsey grins and sticks her tongue out at her sister before jumping off the couch, dumping the kitten into Lucy’s lap as she does so. Brittany flops over, taking up both her own and the previously occupied cushion. The kitten yawns and blinks up sleepily at Lucy. It's tiny, the little brown thing, and has a blue collar with a bell on it. She reads the tag: Charity.

Charity purrs as Lucy begins petting her, running her fingers through the soft fur. The kitten snuggles deeper into her lap and falls back asleep.

Kelsey picks out a movie from the numerous options on the shelf and loads it into the player. Then she runs over and scrambles back onto the couch, shoving Brittany out of her way. Brittany ends up in the middle and grunts as Kelsey kicks her as she gets comfortable.

“What’d you pick?” Anthony asks as he picks up the remote to start the movie.

“ _Jumanji_!”

Brittany whines, “Kells, you _always_ pick that one.”

“I like it. It’s funny. The pelican is my favourite.” The little blonde ball of energy is undeterred by the other kids not agreeing with her choice.

“I thought _Sleeping Beauty_ was your favourite?” Anthony asks, shifting so his head hangs off the seat and he’s looking at the screen upside down.

Brittany joins in, “I thought _The Land Before Time_ was your favourite.”

“They’re all my favourites!” Kelsey leans forward to look at Lucy across Brittany, “Do you like _Jumanji_?”

“I’ve never seen it,” Lucy answers softly. She isn’t sure what a jumangi is.

Kelsey gasps, “Then we have to watch it! How can you have never seen it? It’s the best movie ever!”

The chatter continues as Anthony skips through the previews to get to the movie. Kelsey continues to marvel that Lucy has never seen the movie. Brittany just laughs.

The first time Lucy screams the kitten leaps up and jumps off her, scampering down the hall to go find somewhere quiet. “It’s okay,” Brittany whispers next to her, “It isn’t real.”

By the end of the movie, Lucy has a pillow clutched to her chest, wondering how this terrifying movie is appropriate for children. It’s just so scary. There’s animals running everywhere and a man walking around with a gun shooting at things and the floor turns into a sinking pit and tries to suck everyone down inside and there are people-eating plants and that board game is just _possessed_ and trying to kill everyone. Her heart is racing inside her chest, and she jumps at the end when the drums start playing again. She’s going to be terrified every time she hears drums from now on, she just knows it.

Brittany reaches out to touch her arm, probably to comfort her, but Lucy jumps away from the contact. Brittany pulls her hand back, biting her lip.

Anthony turns off the movie when the credits start and begins flipping through channels. He lands on one that’s just started playing the cartoon movie _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ so they decide to watch that. Its familiar, Lucy has seen this before, so she calms down as they watch. She isn’t surprised when Brittany sings along, or when her singing progressively turns into her belting made-up words at the end when they sing the strange Dr Seuss lyrics.

When the movie ends Lucy glances up and sees Mrs Pierce standing in the doorway. She’s already taken Jacob to bed, he fell asleep near the end of _Jumanji_. “Alright,” she says, “Bed time for you lot.” She walks over to the couch, bending to pick up Kelsey who’s been fighting against sleep for the past ten minutes, blinking slowly and heavily but trying not to fall asleep.

When they get upstairs Lucy grabs her tooth and hair brushes and her sleep clothes and follows Brittany to the bathroom while Mrs. Pierce puts Kelsey to bed. Brittany’s already at the sink, foam on her lips, and humming one of the songs from the movie. Lucy starts brushing her own teeth, looking away as Brittany spits into the sink.

“Goodnight, girls,” Mrs Peirce says from the bathroom doorway.

Brittany bounces over and hugs her mother, “Night, Mom!”

“Night, Brittany, get some sleep.” She looks over at Lucy, looking a lot like she wants to hug her too, but she stays where she is. “Good night, Lucy. I hope you sleep alright.”

“Goodnight, Mrs Pierce.”

Brittany rinses her toothbrush and then leaves, giving Lucy some privacy. Lucy takes the ribbon out of her hair, washes her face like her mother’s told her to do (Good habits are best to start early, Lucy, so they become second nature) and then brushes her hair. Then she changes into her pyjamas, uses the toilet, and then washes her hands. It’s the same routine, every night, no matter where she sleeps. Lucy likes routine. 

She leaves the bathroom, and Brittany’s door is open, but Lucy knocks anyway before entering. She steps in just as Brittany is tossing her clothes into the hamper in the closet. “You can put yours in here too,” she offers, nodding to the bundle of clothes Lucy has in her arms. “Mom will wash them.”

Lucy does as instructed, taking note of Brittany’s pyjamas. Grey shorts and a pink top with a sleeping _Winnie the Pooh_ on the front. Her own is a purple nightgown, her gold cross tucked under the collar.

“You’re going to sleep in shorts?” She finds herself asking, quietly though, Kelsey is already asleep. “But it’s winter.”

Brittany smiles her goofy smile, “I get really warm, even in winter. Shorts are better.”

Lucy nods, she can’t argue with that.

Brittany’s smile fades slightly, “I’m sorry the movie scared you. We didn’t mean to do that.”

Oh. Lucy is a little surprised by this. “Oh, um… that’s okay.”

“I guess it can be a little scary, thinking the game is trying to kill them. It’s not though, don’t worry. It just seems scary. Like sharks. They seem scary, but they aren’t. They’re just like dolphins but with more teeth and not so happy all the time. But they’re still nice people on the inside.”

The girl’s logic is pretty sound for an eight-year-old.

“It’s okay,” Lucy says quietly, looking down.

Brittany reaches out a hand, like she wants to pull her into a hug, but she stops short. Her hand hovers near Lucy’s shoulder, just like Mrs Pierce’s did earlier. Eventually, Brittany lets her arm drop, a thoughtful look on her face.

Lucy is aware that it’s rude to question people, but the words fall from her lips anyway. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Brittany asks, confused. She looks around and then down at herself, trying to figure out what she’s done to make Lucy question her.

“That… that thing with your hand,” Lucy tries to explain. “Your mother did it too.”

“Oh,” The blonde says, understanding. “Oh, um. Mom says that we’re always supposed to give the new kids space, so they can adjust. She says that not everyone comes from a home like ours. She says we have to give you time to trust us.”

When Lucy doesn’t say anything, Brittany continues, “I wanted to give you a hug, to make you feel better. Hugs always make people feel better. But I’m not supposed to, not until you’re comfortable.”

Lucy lets the words roll around in her head for a moment, drawing all the meaning she can from them. She can already tell that Brittany’s family touches more than her own, or than any of the other foster families she’s been with. They smile and laugh and hug each other a lot. But… well, it’s really considerate of them, to try and give Lucy space. She… she appreciates that. She’ll have to tell Mrs Pierce in the morning.

For now though, “It… it’s okay. If… if you want to-” Brittany launches herself at Lucy.

Lucy can’t exactly help that she freezes for a moment, because she’s never had a hug like this. Her mother’s hugs are stiff and rare. Her father gives good hugs, but she doesn’t see him very often. Usually, he gives her a quick squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and calls her “Daddy’s little girl.” She’s never really had someone throw their arms around her quite like Brittany has, squeezing her to death.

But she feels Brittany’s happiness soak through the hug, pressing into her bones the way the house did with its warmth when she first entered.

A shy smile on her lips, Lucy raises her arms and returns the gesture. Brittany’s taught her how to hug.


	2. The Second Lesson

She’s running. Running, running, running but she can’t run fast enough. She feels it getting closer behind her but she can’t seem to get away. “Lucy,” it whispers, calling her name, trying to lure her towards it as it chases her. “Lucy.”

She shakes her head and pushes harder, trying to get away. She feels the ground start to shake. It runs through her feet and up inside her body, rattling her bones. She staggers to the ground, knowing she’s done for.

When it grabs her she gasps and her eyes fly open.

“Lucy. Lucy, wake up.”

She sits up in bed, her breathing heavy, like she really has been running. Her hands feel clammy. She rubs them on the bedspread. She can hear her heart pounding, beating hard against her chest.

Brittany is crouched on the floor in the darkness, watching her closely. “Lucy,” she calls softly. It isn’t until Lucy makes eye contact with her that Brittany reaches out and lays a gentle hand on Lucy’s arm. “Lucy, it’s okay. It was just a bad dream. You’re okay.”

Lucy nods silently. Her glasses are on the side table, under the window. Even though there’s moonlight coming through the curtains, everything is a little blurry for her. “Brittany?” Her voice is scratchy and thick.

“It’s okay, Lucy,” Brittany coos. “You’re safe here.” Her hand runs soothingly up and down Lucy’s arm, calming her. “Just take a deep breath, let it out.”

Lucy, her mind still fuzzy, does as she’s told automatically, breathing deep through her nose and then releasing it through her mouth. She repeats this a few times until she feels her heart slow.

“It’s okay, Lucy. Don’t cry,” Brittany says, standing and sliding into the small bed. Lucy wasn’t aware she was crying, but when she lifts a hand, yes, her cheeks are damp. “Just relax, it’s gone, it was just a bad dream,” Brittany insists gently, scooting next to Lucy and pulling her into her arms. Lucy lets her, stiffening for a moment before relaxing into the hug. Her father used to do this when she was really little and had a bad dream. Only when she was really little though.

Brittany keeps muttering things into her ear, holding her close and rubbing her hair and arms and sides. Everywhere she can, she touches and tries to sooth, rubbing calming circles into Lucy’s skin.

When she’s sure Lucy has calmed down Brittany eventually pulls away, “Did you want a glass of water?” she offers softly, “Kells always wants water after a bad dream.”

Lucy shakes her head.

(No food or drinks after dinner Lucy, it will make it harder to fall asleep.)

“Do you miss your parents?”

Lucy shrugs. “Yes.”

“We won’t watch anything scary anymore, okay? I promise. My mom will be upset if she knows we gave you bad dreams on your first night.”

“It’s not your fault, Brittany,” Lucy replies, her voice a low whisper. She has scary dreams whenever she doesn’t sleep in her own bed. Even when she falls asleep on the couch at home during a movie, or when she was just little and napped in her parent's bed. She can’t sleep soundly unless she’s in her own bed.

“Do you have a stuffy?” Brittany asks, looking past Lucy in the darkness at she sheets she’s tangled in, searching.

“A… a what?”

“A stuffy? A stuffed animal? Something to hug at night?”

At home, Lucy has a few stuffed animals, but they stay on her bookshelf. They’re special. She doesn’t want to sleep with them and get them all wrinkled and squished. She also has a shelf with all her China dolls; her father buys her a new one whenever he goes away. He tells her they watch over her when she sleeps. They stay on the shelf too.

“No,” Lucy answers, a little embarrassed.

But in the moonlight she sees Brittany smile. The taller girl pulls away and pads over to her own bed, pulling one of the stuffed animals from the army at the foot of her bed.

“Kelsey has about twelve all on her bed at once, it’s like a mountain of bodies. I have seven I sleep with,” Brittany explains. “One for each day of the week. That way it’s fair. They’re my favourites. All my other ones are in the basement with our other toys. Here,” she hands Lucy something soft and plush.

Lucy looks at it, but it's dark and she doesn’t have her glasses so she can’t tell exactly what it is.

“This is Gideon,” Brittany explains. “He’s my Sunday stuffy, because Sundays are the hardest because you have to get up and go to school in the morning.” Her voice softens, gentle and comforting, “He’ll protect you when you sleep. He’s really strong. He’s the strongest of my stuffies.”

Lucy can make out four legs and a head, but she still doesn’t know what kind of animal she’s holding. “What is he?”

“A goat. Well, a baby goat. He’s only got stubby little horns. But he’s really brave and really strong and he’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

Lucy smiles. A baby goat. A kid. It’s almost her favourite. Lambs are Lucy’s favourite animal, baby sheep. Kids are almost lambs.

“Thank you, Brittany.”

She can tell Brittany is smiling. “No problem.” She leans over and pulls Lucy into another hug. Lucy reacts faster this time, letting her arms wrap around the other girl’s body. “Sleep tight, okay? No more bad dreams.”

“No more bad dreams,” Lucy repeats, squeezing Gideon close to her body as she lies back down.

* * *

After saying a silent Grace to herself Lucy inspects the plate placed before her. There’s scrambled eggs and toast. And something else. She doesn’t know what the third thing on the plate is.

She woke up before Brittany and Kelsey, so she opened the curtains a little wider and read some more from her book until Mr. Pierce poked his head in the room and the other two woke up. They tromped downstairs and joined Anthony on the couch to watch cartoons until Mrs. Pierce called them for breakfast; Brittany’s eyes flickered between the television and the clock on the wall the whole time. Lucy didn’t want to be rude and ask what she was doing, but she had been curious.

And now here she is, looking at her plate a little hesitantly. She’ll eat it. She knows to eat what’s given to her. She just doesn’t know what it is.

“Um,” She looks around the table, hoping someone will help her out. “What… what is this?”

Anthony looks at her like she’s some sort of alien creature. “Breakfast. You eat it.”

“No, no I know that, what’s…” she points to the third thing on her plate helplessly.

Mrs Pierce comes up behind her, hands hovering above Lucy’s shoulders as she leans over to see what she’s pointing at, still careful not to touch Lucy if she doesn’t want it. “That’s bacon, sweetie.”

“I’ve never had that before.”

“Never?!” Brittany and Kelsey say at the same time.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Mrs Pierce says before moving back to the counter to finish making her coffee. They kids are eating breakfast in the kitchen, since there’s only the four of them. They don’t have to eat in the dining room.

Lucy isn’t a rude little girl like her mother sometimes makes her feel. She picks up a piece of the bacon and bites it. Then she chews. Then she swallows. Then she smiles.

It’s really good.

Brittany’s grinning at her, “See. It’s delicious.” She’s wriggling around in her seat; she seems more fidgety than yesterday, but she’s still smiling at Lucy.

Brittany’s right. It’s really tasty. Lucy thinks it might be her new favourite.

“How was your night, Lucy?” Mrs Pierce asks. “Did you sleep alright?”

Lucy thinks back to what Brittany said last night, about how her mother would be upset if she knew Lucy had bad dreams on her first night there. She sees Mrs. Pierce’s smile, and thinks about how kind she’s been. How sweet and nice and warm. She doesn’t want to make Mrs. Pierce sad.

(Don’t tell lies, Lucy, it’s not proper.)

(God doesn’t love liars, Lucy.)

(You must never tell lies, Lucy.)

“Yes,” she answers. “Brittany let me borrow her Gideon.”

Mrs Pierce smiles at her and then gives a look of approval to her daughter, “That was nice of her.”

“You never let _me_ borrow your stuffed animals!” Kelsey yells from across the table.

“That’s because you smell.”

“Brittany, don’t say that to your sister.”

“But she does.”

“Brittany.”

“Sorry.”

“I think she smells, too.”

“Anthony, don’t start.”

“I do though, I think she smells.”

“See, Mom? We should totally sell her. She smells bad.”

“At least I don’t have stupid hair or holes in my ears.”

“I don’t have stupid hair.”

“It’s all short and stuff.”

“I’m a boy. Boys have short hair.”

“Kells you’re supposed to have holes in your ears so you can wear earrings.”

“Well, they look dumb.”

This is the strangest family Lucy has stayed at yet.

Lucy eats all the bacon on her plate first, not touching the eggs or the toast even though she’s supposed to eat in a circle, taking a bite of each in a row so one doesn’t get left for last and get cold on her plate. That’s how she’s been taught to eat. Lucy figures it’s okay to not have proper table manners once, since she’s showing her appreciation of the bacon to Mrs. Pierce by gobbling it up right away.

Charity comes into the kitchen and starts up a high-pitched mewing, twisting between Mrs. Pierce’s legs. While the kids eat Mrs. Pierce gets the kitten her breakfast, who chirps happily at her until the bowl is placed down. Once she’s finished the bacon Lucy remembers to act like a lady and eats the rest of her breakfast slowly. Anthony is eyeing the crusts Brittany has on her plate that she hasn’t eaten. Kelsey is telling her mother about a toy she saw on a commercial that she wants for Christmas. Brittany eats and continues to fidget.

When they’re all finished Brittany grabs Kelsey’s hand as she jumps to her feet, tugging her sister along with her. “What?” Kelsey groans.

“We’re gonna be late!” Brittany bolts from the room, dragging her sister with her, and Lucy can hear the pounding of them running up the stairs. She gives a curious look to Anthony, but he’s too busy stealing the uneaten crusts of Brittany’s toast to notice.

Lucy stands, taking hers and Brittany’s plates over to the counter. When Mrs. Pierce smiles and says, “You are such a polite little thing,” as she takes them from Lucy and begins to load them in the dishwasher, Lucy feels a small swell in her chest. All she wants is for people to think she’s good enough.

“Mom, you better be ready to leave soon!” Brittany hollers through the house.

“We have plenty of time,” Mrs Pierce calls back, taking a sip of her coffee and leaning against the counter.

“You do remember that my class got bumped up an hour, right? So now you have to drop me and Kells at the same time! Dad’s car is broken!”

“Oh crap,” Mrs Pierce winces to herself quietly.

“Mom!” Brittany yells when she gets no reply.

“Okay, honey, we’ll make it. Don’t worry!” She looks down at the robe she’s wearing and then helplessly at the two children in the room. Anthony is trying to coax Charity closer with a piece of egg. The table still has dirty dishes on it.

“I can clear the table,” Lucy offers.

“Oh,” Mrs Pierce looks torn for a moment and then says, “Thank you, honey. Things are just a little hectic right now, we’re always running around on Saturday mornings.” She leaves to go get dressed, brushing a hand on Lucy’s arm as she goes.

Lucy begins gathering the ketchup and barbeque sauce containers – Brittany likes barbeque sauce with her eggs, Lucy had tried not to grimace – and as she’s opening the refrigerator to put them away there’s more stomping as Brittany comes running down the stairs and into the kitchen.

She’s standing in the doorway, panting. She’s still wearing her _Winnie the Pooh_ sleep shirt, but her shorts have been switched for white tights. “Where are my leotards,” she growls at Anthony.

He shrugs, “No idea.” Charity is still sniffing at the egg in his fingers, not sure if she can eat it.

“Anthony, this isn’t funny. Where are they?”

“I didn’t take them!”

“There’s a note that says _will return for ransom_ in my closet where all my leotards should be.”

“Maybe it was Kelsey.”

“Kelsey can’t spell ransom! Where are they? We have to leave in like, ten minutes because my mom has to drive me and Kells to two different places and they both forgot and my dad’s car won’t work.”

“Maybe the new girl did it.”

Brittany turns to look at Lucy, standing next to the open refrigerator, and then glares back at the other boy. “I’ll tell my mom you were the one who broke the tap in their bathroom because you and Jake were playing Army Mechanic.”

Lucy has no idea what this means, but clearly, Anthony does. “Garage. Trunk of your dad’s car.”

Brittany growls and then runs out of the room. A few seconds later there’s a slam of a door.

“Why did you-?” she beings.

“She beat me at Operation on Game Night. It was her punishment.”

“She…?”

Mr Pierce comes into the kitchen then, carrying Jacob on his hip. He smiles at Lucy, “Good morning, Lucy.”

“Good morning, sir.”

Mr Pierce blinks a few times, holding back a smirk, before looking at Anthony, “Have you seen-”

“I already told Brittany where I hid her silly dance costumes.”

“-Kelsey’s bag?”

Lucy closes the refrigerator and stands there silently. The rules of behaviour in this house are strange. She thought she was learning. But clearly not.

Mr Pierce frowns at the boy, “I’m going to ignore that one for now. Have you seen Kelsey’s bag?”

“Her backpack? It’s in the basement,” Anthony offers helpfully.

“No, her art bag. The pink one with-”

“With the furry handle that Charity was chewing on? Her mom put it in the laundry room to hide it so the cat wouldn’t try and swallow it.”

Mr. Pierce nods and leaves the room, nearly walking into his daughter as Brittany – still running – bursts into the room, now wearing the white tights with a black dance leotard over top. There’s a gym bag over her shoulder. She runs over to the refrigerator – Lucy hastily moves out of the way – and pulls a bottle of water out and stuffs it into the bag.

She looks over at Anthony, “I hate you.”

“Hate is a strong word, Brittany,” Anthony says in a high voice, imitating Brittany’s mother, “You shouldn’t use strong words like that when you don’t mean it.”

“But I do mean it. And I’m telling my mom you-”

“Telling me what?” Mrs Pierce asks, poking her head in the room.

“Mom-we-need-to-leave-right-now!” Brittany yells, all as one word.

“Kelsey is just getting dressed. But you can go and put your boots and coat on if you’re in such a rush.” Brittany does as she’s asked, leaving the room faster than Lucy has ever seen anyone move. Anthony follows, muttering about how much he hates her too.

Mrs Pierce moves over to the sink to sip the last of the coffee she put down when Brittany began yelling at her.

“Mrs Pierce?” Lucy asks carefully, because she is really confused. When the woman looks over at her with a smile, Lucy continues, “Why is everyone running around?”

“Saturday mornings Brittany has dance lessons and Kelsey has art class,” Mrs. Pierce explains. “They used to be an hour apart, so we had more time to get ready in the morning, but I’d forgotten Brittany’s class moved up a time slot. Now she starts at the same time as her sister. And of course,” she smiles, “Their lessons can’t be in the same area of town. That would make things too easy.”

Lucy understands now why Brittany was so fidgety. She still doesn’t understand why Anthony hid her clothes, but she figures Mrs Pierce won’t be able to give a proper explanation for that.

“Brittany has ballet Saturday mornings and Jazz on Thursday evenings,” the woman continues. “And Kelsey just started up the beginner art classes, she likes drawing and painting. Anthony has swimming lessons Monday afternoons, it lets him blow off some energy.”

She studies Lucy for a moment before asking, “Did you want to come to Brittany’s dance lesson with her? I’m sure we could find an outfit of hers that would fit.”

Lucy’s mind slows to a stop. “I… p-pardon?”

There’s a shouting match going on in the hallway. Mrs. Pierce lays a hand on Lucy’s shoulder as she leads her out of the kitchen and towards the racket. “Roger and I like encouraging our kids to have a creative outlet, even the ones that aren’t ours. You’re welcome to go to Brittany’s lesson today, I’m sure her instructor won’t mind. If you like it then I can enrol you for lessons. You wouldn’t be at the same level as Brittany, but it would be a fun thing for you to try. Brittany loves dance.”

They reach the front hall just as Brittany finishes screaming up the stairs at her sister and then runs out the front door towards the car, slamming the door in the process. Lucy winces, feeling the vibration run alone the floor and up into her bones for a moment.

She still hasn’t decided yet if she likes that this house is so loud and lived-in.

“Well?” Mrs Pierce asks as she takes her coat out of the closet.

“I… I don’t know how to dance,” Lucy manages to come up with, not really sure how to respond.

Mrs Pierce smiles and gives a small laugh, “Well, that’s why they’re called lessons, sweet heart.”

Even if Mrs. Pierce is offering to take her, Lucy knows she can’t go. Because if she likes it, it will be too hard to say no when Mrs. Pierce offers to pay for her to take lessons. And Lucy doesn’t even have any of her mother’s rules floating through her mind at this point, but she knows she can’t let Mrs. Pierce do that. She’s already taken Lucy into her home and is taking care of her like she’s her own daughter, Lucy could never ask the woman to pay for dancing lessons for her.

“I… I’m alright here,” she answers, trying to be polite.

Mrs. Pierce gives a small, sad smile, and Lucy isn’t sure if she’s said the right thing. “Okay. But let me know if you change your mind.” She turns away to grab her coat as Kelsey finishes shoving her feet into her boots, “Come on, Kelsey, before your sister drives herself to dance class.”

When the leave and the door closes the house suddenly feels a lot quieter. Lucy stands still in the front hall for a moment, taking in the stillness. Even this stillness feels more awake and warm then the stillness of her house with her mother. She knows she shouldn’t like it, because that is her real home, but.

She wanders through the house. Mr Pierce is in the kitchen making coffee and watching Jacob, who seems more intent to fire his cereal across the table than eat it.

Anthony is in the den, watching a loud television show with people in bright outfits. There’s lots of yelling and explosions behind them and they start fighting with strange creatures in clunky costumes. Lucy stands in the doorway, watching.

“What?” Anthony asks, looking over at her from where he’s hanging off one end of the couch. He never seems to sit properly in his seat, it’s strange.

“What are you watching?”

“ _Power Rangers_. Duh.” He rolls his eyes at her, as if every child is expected to know this, and goes back to watching the television and ignoring her presence.

Lucy was never allowed to watch _Power Rangers_ at home. (Violence on television isn’t for little girls, Lucy.) Mostly she’d watch _The Bugs Bunny and Tweetie Show_ or the _101 Dalmatians_ cartoon when she was allowed to watch television. Or daytime soap operas or the cooking channel with her mother. Or the court channel with her father.

(Lucy, you’re going to be our little politics girl, just like your father.)

She hovers in the doorway a little while longer, watching what happens on the screen. Kids she knows from her last school, and the one before that actually, watch and love this show. They play pretend at recess, acting out scenes and pretending to be the characters. They’re loud and shout and play-fight a lot. But Lucy’s never watched it, so she was never included.

She watches it now, for a few moments. It does look like fun; the characters are like superheroes, protecting their city. They have powers and get to wear bright colours all the time.

But she knows she isn’t allowed to watch this. She doesn’t live with her mother right now, but the rules should still apply. Shows with violence and fighting and blood and things like that aren’t for little children, especially for little girls. She does want to watch, to see why everyone likes it, but knows it isn’t right. So she leaves.

Charity is in the hallway, batting at a piece of balled-up tinfoil with her paw. It jitters and rolls awkwardly along the floor, and the kitten jumps around, chasing it like it is the most fascinating thing in the world.

Lucy remembers Kelsey mentioning teaching Charity to play fetch.

The ball of foil bounces down the hall and bumps into her feet. Charity runs forward and pounces, paws trapping the ball. Then she rolls, flopping onto her back on top of Lucy’s feet and looks lovingly up at her, hoping Lucy will play.

“Oh, you’re too cute to say no to,” Lucy says, bending to take the foil ball and lightly tossing it down the hallway. It only goes a few feet, but Charity leaps up and chases it along the floor, sliding into the wall as she does so.

Once she orients herself again, the kitten picks up the bit of tinfoil in her mouth and trots happily back to Lucy, dropping it at her feet and sitting expectantly, tail swishing and big eyes looking up imploringly at Lucy. Lucy can’t help herself, she smiles slowly and picks up the foil to throw it again.

The pair make their way down the hallway; Lucy throwing the ball and Charity running after it, and Lucy taking a few steps to follow. Eventually they reach the stairs. Lucy eyes them, looking up to the second floor and then back down at the small kitten at her feet, who is fixated on the ball of foil in Lucy’s hand.

Really worried she’s about to break the Pierce’s kitten, Lucy tosses the tinfoil up onto the fifth stair from the bottom. The kitten happily scampers up and grabs the make-shift toy, flopping down and curling onto herself to play with it. Lucy moves up the stairs and takes the foil and tosses it up to the very top. Charity chases.

They make their way back to Brittany and Kelsey’s room, where Lucy changes from her nightgown into a dress to wear for the day, all the while tossing the foil across the room for Charity to fetch. Then she brushes her hair, tidies her small space in the room, and then goes to the washroom to brush her teeth. When she’s finished in there she tosses the foil again for Charity, but this time she throws the foil a little too far. It sails into Mr. and Mrs.’s Pierce’s bedroom.

Charity makes a happy yowl and runs after the ball. But she doesn’t come out of the room.

Worried the ball has landed somewhere the kitten either can’t reach, or will hurt herself trying to reach, Lucy takes a few slow steps towards the bedroom. She doesn’t even need her mother’s voice in her head to tell her this is wrong.

(Never enter someone’s private space, Lucy. It’s rude and invading.)

(Lucy, God doesn’t love little girls who go snooping where they don’t belong.)

She reaches the doorframe but stops; the door is half closed, blocking her view. She can’t hear or immediately see Charity. What if the kitten is stuck? She’s only just gotten here, and she really likes it here, this family is nice. She doesn’t want to be forced to go because she hurt their cat.

But this is Mr. and Mrs.’s Pierce’s room. She knows she isn’t allowed to go inside.

A dull thump echoing from the room inside jolts Lucy into action, her need to make sure the kitten is okay greater than her mother’s voice in her head. Pushing the door open she steps inside.

There’s a picture frame on the floor, right next to where Charity’s sitting. The cat is looking up determinedly at the table next to the bed, apparently having tried already to climb up to get the ball and knocking the picture frame over in the process.

The kitten stretches up on her back legs again, pawing at the top of the table, and gives a soft, pleading mew. Then she changes tactic suddenly, landing back on all fours before jumping up onto the bed. From there she walks up onto the table to get the foil.

Lucy rushes over, catching the reading glasses the cat knocks over. She places the glasses and the picture back on the table, and then reaches to pick up the kitten and take her out of the room. Unfortunately, Charity has other ideas. Her paw comes out and knocks the foil from the table, sending it skidding across the carpet. The cat leaps off the table to chase after it.

Thankfully the cat manages to pounce on the tinfoil before she crashes into the bookshelf against the wall. She flops over, rolling on her back and kicking her feet in the air as she clutches the foil in her paws.

Lucy stares at the bookshelf.

(Lucy you should never touch people’s private things, it’s impolite and unacceptable.)

There’s a massive bookshelf just sitting there, calling towards her. She walks over hesitantly, very unsure of herself and aware that she shouldn’t even be _in here_ much less snooping around.

But, books.

Charity plays happily at the base of the bookshelf while Lucy steps close enough to read the titles. Each shelf is stuffed with books, all lined up on each shelf, with some even squished in to fit on top, lying on their sides. Her hands reach out, tracing over the spines. Some are new and fresh, some are worn and broken in. They’re all different sizes and colours, with different fonts scrolled along their sides, displaying their titles.

Lucy doesn’t even hear specific words her mother’s voice says to her anymore; inside her head now is just one massive yell, her mother telling her that no, no this isn’t acceptable.

She reaches to take one of the books off the shelf, her mother’s voice in her head screaming at her that she’s a sinner and a very bad little girl.

But Lucy can hardly hear, she’s too enthralled. A whole shelf of books she’s never read.

It doesn’t matter that they’re books for adults, that they aren’t stories about little girls finding hidden gardens or little boys befriending baby deer. They’re still stories she’s never read, and they’re calling to her.

* * *

Sometime later Lucy is sitting at the base of the shelf, book in her hands, Charity purring in her lap. The book is difficult, with long words she’s never heard of and big blocks of text that are dull and dry. It’s about some people, in Egypt she thinks, and they have some old treasured piece of paper that other people are trying to steal because of what’s written on it. She’s only a few chapters deep in the story, but she’s already trapped within the pages, living their adventure in a faraway land.

“Oh, there you are.”

Lucy yelps, shuffling backwards in fright, scaring the cat in her lap in the process. Charity digs her little claws into Lucy’s thighs before leaping up and running out of the room. The thick paper-back tumbles from her hands, hitting the floor and losing her place in the story.

Brittany is standing in the doorframe, no longer in her dance uniform, a curious smile on her face.

Lucy is frozen, her fear of being punished swelling up so big inside her that she can’t move.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lucy shies away, knowing she’s about to get in trouble.

Brittany gives her a funny look, “What’s wrong?”

She can feel her lip quivering and her eyes growing really big. She knew this was wrong. She knew it was wrong to come in here and she knew it was wrong to stay in here but she did anyway so she deserves any punishment she gets.

“What?” Brittany looks concerned now, like maybe Lucy has hurt herself.

Lucy’s voice is very quiet when she says, “I’m sorry.”

Now Brittany is giving her a confused look. “For…reading?” She steps into the room and crouches down, picking up the book Lucy dropped. Inspecting the title, she says, “Or are you sorry for reading something old and boring?”

“Um.” Lucy frowns, not sure why Brittany isn’t getting mad or telling her parents Lucy was in their bedroom. “It isn’t boring?” Her words come out as a question, because she’s really unsure of what’s going on.

“It’s one of my dad’s books, so it must be boring. Come on,” She takes Lucy’s hand and drags her to her feet.

“Shouldn’t we put the book back?” Lucy asks as Brittany begins walking away, book in hand.

“Well don’t you want to finish reading it?”

Lucy gives a really shy look. Yes, she does. But she knows she shouldn’t.

Brittany chuckles lightly at her, “Lucy, it’s only a book. My dad won’t get mad at you for reading a book.”

“But-”

“You can ask him if you can borrow it,” Brittany shrugs, “If that will make you feel better. But he won’t mind.”

“I’d rather ask,” Lucy replies softly, taking the book from Brittany and placing it back in its place on the shelf. Once it’s slid into place she follows the other girl from the room.

“How was your dance class?” she asks, both because it’s polite to ask, and because she really does want to know.

“Fun!” Brittany says, leading her down the stairs. “We started learning the steps to a new piece today, they were really cool. Hard, but super fun!” Brittany leaps down the last few steps as she says this, clearly in a good mood.

Lucy smiles shyly. Brittany is a really amusing girl. “I’m glad you had fun, you seemed really worried this morning.”

Brittany nods, “Mom says I’m impatient.”

Lucy has been told she’s impatient too, many times, so she understands what Brittany means.

The other girl leads her into the kitchen and then opens a door Lucy never noticed before. “Where are we going?” she asks, watching Brittany walk through and begin to go down some stairs.

“The basement,” Brittany calls over her shoulder. “We usually play down here.”

Lucy follows her down the stairs, holding tight to the railing. There’s a wall along her one side, but it’s open on the other, easy for someone to fall over.

Brittany has probably purposely jumped over before. Anthony too.

At the base of the stairs there is tile floor, with a bar stand and stools, but the rest is carpeted. The stairs sit in the middle of the basement, to the right there’s a door to a washroom and cold cellar, as well as what is probably Mr. Pierce’s office. To the left is a big open space, with a couch, a few chairs, and a television. 

Brittany’s little sister is already waiting for them, curled up in a tight ball on a very worn looking couch. When she hears them she lifts her head and blinks at them, yawning. She looks a lot like Charity, curled up as she is.

“Where’s Anthony?” Brittany asks, leaping up to stand on the recliner, which rocks slightly with her weight. She brings her hand up to her face, as if shielding herself from the sun as she scans the basement. “I thought Dad said he was down here.”

“I was having a cat nap,” Kelsey says, fully sitting up and shaking her blonde hair out of her face. She’s still acting very much like a cat. “I didn’t hear him.”

Brittany frowns, “Maybe he-”

Anthony leaps out from behind the sound system unit, roaring loudly at them. “The Dark Lion Prince Anthony is here!” he yells, waving his arms around.

Brittany and Kelsey both shriek and bolt; Kelsey leaps over the back of the couch to get away and Brittany jumps down from the recliner, sending it fiercely rocking back and forth. As they run past Brittany reaches out and grabs Lucy’s arm, dragging her along.

“Quick, across the river!” Kelsey yells, leading them to the part of the basement with tile floor. The girls ignore the bar, opting to jump across the tile and land safely on the carpet on the other side. “Get to safety,” Brittany yells at Lucy and her sister, letting go of Lucy’s hand. There’s a stack of small pillows leaning against the wall. Brittany runs over and throws them on the tile just as Anthony reaches it. “Those are crocodiles, they’ll eat you!”

Kelsey has run off, seeking shelter inside the office. Lucy stands dumbly, watching Brittany taunt Anthony because he can’t cross the tiles. Anthony has dropped down onto all fours and is pacing and growling at Brittany.

“Come _on_ ,” Brittany insists, taking Lucy’s hand and tugging her into motion again. Lucy lets herself be dragged along, a little unsure of what exactly is happening. “We have to hurry and get to Pride Rock before he figures out how to cross the river!”

Brittany leads her into the office space, where Kelsey is crouching behind the rolling desk chair. “Where is he?” she hisses at them.

Brittany presses down on Lucy’s back, forcing her to crouch alongside them. “He’s stuck at the river,” Brittany whispers back. “He’ll figure out how to cross soon; jumping on the crocodile’s closed mouths.”

“Or he’ll go back,” Kelsey adds, her voice quickening with excitement. “And get reinforcements. The dark lions are trying to take over the kingdom.”

“We have to do something!”

“I’ll go check it out,” Kelsey says, scrambling forward on hands and knees. “I’ll yell for you to run if he crosses the river. If he goes back to his kingdom, we’ll have to chase him and stop him.”

“How?” Brittany whines.

“If we have to chase him, we can herd him into the jungle; even a lion can’t survive on his own in there. There’s too many scary things.”

“Good idea,” Brittany agrees. “Okay, be careful,” she says, pulling her sister into a quick hug before shoving her forward. Kelsey takes off, quickly making her way across the carpet on her hands and knees.

Lucy and Brittany wait silently for a long moment, waiting for a signal from Kelsey of what to do. But eventually the confusion at what is going on takes control of Lucy and she blurts out, “What are you _doing_?”

“Shhh,” Brittany insists, pressing a finger to Lucy’s lips.

Lucy leans back, away from the touch. “Brittany,” she says, keeping her voice lower, “what’s going on?”

Brittany grins at her, “We’re playing. Anthony’s the prince of the dark lion kingdom, he’s trying to take over our home.”

Lucy is very, very confused. “What?”

“It’s a game,” Brittany insists, eyes wide and happy. On her face is her ever-present smile.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“It’s make-believe, Lucy. Haven’t you ever played that before?”

(Playing pretend is for toddlers, Lucy. Grown women live in the real world, not some fantasy world they create in their heads.)

Lucy knows that sometimes the kids at school play pretend at recess, they run around laughing and screaming and imagining they’re things other than themselves. But not a lot of the kids at school like her, no matter where she goes. They don’t usually include her in their games. She’s only trying to be exactly what her mother tells her to be, polite and sweet and a good little girl that God will love, but the other kids don’t see her like that. She’s quiet and shy, so they think she thinks she’s too good for them. And she tries hard in school so they make fun of her for being smart. And they make fun of her for liking to read. So usually at recess when the other kids play and don’t ask her to join, she’s either alone on the swings, or in the shade near the school building’s wall reading.

The day she learned how to use the school library was one of the best days of her life. It’s hard now, because she keeps changing schools. But the libraries have so many more books than she does at home.

Reading is really the only imagination she has, where she gets lost in other people’s worlds, living their adventures. She has dolls at home she plays with, pretends they’re families and things like that. But she doesn’t have a whole lot of time for playing. She’s at school during the day, and after school and on the weekends she’s either doing chores, doing homework, or reading. It’s not as fun to play on your own, and Lucy doesn’t have a whole lot of friends.

So besides reading, and pretending she’s little Sara Crewe or other characters from her books, Lucy doesn’t do a whole lot of make-believing.

Brittany’s face falls when Lucy doesn’t say anything. “Oh,” she says sadly. “You… you’ve never played pretend before, huh?”

“No,” Lucy says, her voice hardly there. “I don’t know how.”

Brittany sits still for a long moment, silently watching her. Lucy worries that Brittany’s grown angry or upset with her, that she’s silently judging Lucy because she doesn’t know how to do something Brittany does.

“Everyone knows how to make-believe, Lucy. Maybe you just don’t know it, but I know you do. But here, I’ll teach you, okay? I’ll show you that you know how to make-believe. When it’s Christmas, and you imagine all the things Santa might bring you, how cool his workshop must be? Or when it’s night out, and you see a falling star and you picture where it came from, what other universe it was a part of? Or when you wish really hard on birthday candles? That’s make-believe.”

Brittany shuffles closer on her knees, taking both of Lucy’s hands and grasping them tightly. “All your books, when you get sucked into the stories and sometimes it feels like you are the characters? It feels like you’re traveling alongside them. Like _Peter Pan_ ; when he goes on his adventures and you pretend you’re one of the Lost Boys, following along and adventuring with them.” Brittany’s eyes are soft as she looks at Lucy. They’re wide and excited, but they’re soft. She’s not scolding Lucy for thinking she doesn’t know how to pretend, she’s hopeful that Lucy will believe her. “Have you ever wanted to be Wendy? Have you ever, just for a second, thought what sort of quests you would go on with Peter if you were her? Pictured what would happen?”

Lucy stays quiet for a long moment before murmuring, “Yes.”

“See,” Brittany says, squeezing her hands. “All you have to do is believe. That’s what playing pretend is, just believe, as hard as you can, and you can be anyone you want, you can be anywhere you want, doing anything you want to.”

“Just like that?” Lucy breathes.

Brittany squeezes her hands again, “Just like that. It’s like what Peter and Tinker Bell say: think of a wonderful thought.” She smiles, showing her teeth, “All it takes is faith and trust.”

Lucy frowns despite herself, “I thought that was for flying.”

A small, hushed giggle bursts free of Brittany’s lips, “It is.”

“But I thought-”

“Lucy, the whole story of _Peter Pan_ is about make-believe.” Brittany sits down fully on the ground, crossing her legs and still holding onto Lucy’s hands. “That’s the whole point, all their adventures in the Mermaid’s Lagoon or the Neverwood Forest or on the Pirate Ship? Haven’t you seen the ending? Their adventures in Never Land aren’t real, not for the parents at least, when they get home from their party. But Wendy thinks it’s real. Maybe she dreamed it while she slept, maybe she imagined it while sitting in the window waiting for her parents to come home, or maybe she made it up as she told stories to her brothers until they fell asleep. But that’s what the magic of it is. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t real, she _believed_ it was real, so it was.”

Kelsey starts calling to them from the other side of the basement. Brittany ignores her sister, still focused on Lucy. “See, Lucy? Just leave the world behind, imagine anything you want, and when you play pretend, you can have it.” She squeezes Lucy’ hands one last time before letting go and turning to go after her sister.

“Thank you,” Lucy whispers. Brittany didn’t mean to, but she’s given Lucy a gift. She’s given Lucy a gift she’ll never lose. Because that’s what she needs. She can be good and proper, doing everything her mother wants, but maybe playing pretend, learning to let her mind wander? That’s what she needs. And Brittany’s given her that.


	3. The Third Lesson

The two weeks of winter break go by very fast for Lucy. When she was younger, winter break would mean long, long car rides to visit her grandparents out-of-state, curling up in her bedroom for hours doing homework or reading her new books, and when she was much younger, sledding at the park with her father. Aside from little bursts of excitement, they were usually very quiet.

Her Christmas with the Pierce family is very different from what she’s known all her life. They have lots of traditions they include Lucy in, as if she’s a part of the family. She missed going out and picking the real tree they have, and she missed decorating it, but she’s there to help the family take all the decorations down, which is apparently just as much of a celebration. Their tree is very hectic and overcrowded – Lucy’s tree at home is only ever decorated with the blue and white baubles her mother likes. The Pierce’s tree is covered in strings of beads, tinsel, traditional decorations, and craft-made decorations.

It’s quite the event, taking everything down. So many of the decorations are hand-made and so vibrant and creative. Lucy finds herself asking about each decoration she takes down, wanting to know who made them. Most are crafts made by Brittany and Kelsey, but some are made by other foster children. Not just Anthony and Jacob, but by other kids no longer living with the Pierces.

They don’t go and visit Brittany’s grandparents, who live in New Mexico, but they do go and visit some of her aunts and uncles that live nearby. There are so many small blonde children running around and being loud and messy; Lucy sticks to Brittany like glue, afraid of getting lost. All the kids are friendly and try to include her, but she isn’t part of their family, so she feels out of place and is intimidated. She opts for holding on to Brittany’s arm most of the night, silently watching them play. Brittany doesn’t seem to mind; she seems happy that Lucy is at least partly including herself in everything that’s going on, instead of hiding in a corner or with Brittany’s mother and the other adults.

For New Year’s they go skating at city hall. Lucy’s never been skating before, but she instantly falls in love. Even though it’s an outdoor arena, and it’s cold and there are so many people swarming the ice so it’s loud and crowded, Lucy feels at peace. As she moves – slowly at first, one hand gripping the wall – it feels like there is a bubble of calm and quiet around her. Her cheeks go pink and her fingers become numb, but she has a lot of fun.

So much fun, she considers asking her mother to take her next year. Assuming she’s living with her mother for next Christmas.

All too soon though the break is over and school has to start back up again. Lucy gets nervous, but not the scared kind of nervous, since she’s done this before. It’s more of a familiar nervousness, because this will be the third school change she’s made since she was told she couldn’t live with her mother for a little while.

She isn’t in Brittany’s class, which makes her a little sad. It means she will be totally on her own.

Breakfast on Monday morning is chaotic. By now, Lucy has learned to let herself slide into the background when mornings get so disorganised and frenzied. Jacob cries all morning, wanting to stay at home and play with his new toys, not go to back to kindergarten. Anthony runs around without his shirt on after Jacob threw toothpaste at him, and tries to sneak all the leftover Christmas chocolates into his backpack. Kelsey throws a tantrum when her mother tells her it’s too cold to wear the new skirt and tank-top outfit she received, and then throws another tantrum when Brittany tells her pink is a stupid colour anyway.

Brittany doesn’t do anything particular to add to the mayhem, but she shakes and vibrates when she sits and dances on her feet when she stands, clearly excited to be going back. She begs her father to make them French toast, which is apparently only a weekend breakfast, and manages to win him over when she pouts long enough.

“Why do you do that?” Brittany asks her after breakfast, when they’re upstairs getting dressed.

“Do what?” Lucy asks, delicately rolling her stockings up her legs.

(Ladies wear skirts and stockings, Lucy. But a lady never wears stockings with rips or runs, be gentle with them.)

Her mother’s voice is weaker now, scolding her less since she’s begun living with the Pierces. It’s still there, just less often now. Lucy isn’t sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“At breakfast. Or any meal, really,” Brittany elaborates, dancing around the room as she tries to pull her socks on without sitting down. “You always stay quiet for a few seconds before eating like the rest of us.”

“Oh.” Brittany means her praying. “It’s… thanking the Lord before eating, you’re supposed to do it.”

“Like how we took hands and we said Grace at my Aunt Cathy’s?” Brittany asks, a dopey grin on her face.

“Yes.” Lucy had liked that, when the whole family had thanked the Lord together. It didn’t make her feel like she was on the outside, like she feels whenever she has to pray silently because the family she’s with doesn’t say Grace.

“But we only say that on holidays.”

“You’re… you’re always supposed to do it.” On Brittany’s frown, Lucy adds, “Or, well, my family does. My father makes sure we do. It’s a rule, pray for thanks at every meal.” She prays before she goes to sleep too, but tries to do it when Brittany and Kelsey are in the bathroom, so she doesn’t make them feel bad for not praying before bed. It’s their house, so if their parent’s don’t make them, then Lucy doesn’t want to make them feel bad when they see her do it.

“We only pray on holidays. Or at church. Like weddings and stuff.”

Lucy learned early on that it was unlikely she was going to end up in a house that went to Church on Sundays. She’s made do.

When she does go back to living with her mother, and her father comes back from his trip, Lucy has decided she won’t tell them this. Her father would call it a sin that Lucy didn’t go to Church, even if the families she was staying with didn’t.

“Different families do things differently,” Lucy says, tying the ribbon in her hair and trying to be polite. She doesn’t want Brittany to think she believes their family is _wrong_ for not going to Church.

“I’ve been to three weddings,” Brittany says proudly. “But they’re really boring. I fall asleep every time. The old man at the front always wants people to pray and stuff, but I can hardly stay awake.”

Lucy chooses not to say anything.

They finish getting dressed, and then troop downstairs to gather their things. Lucy is using one of Brittany’s old backpacks, since she didn’t bring her own with her. But she has her pencil case, which has her favourite pencil and eraser and pencil crayons. On a whim she also puts the book Mr Pierce let her borrow into the bag, just in case. Mrs Pierce has made them all lunch, even one for Lucy.

She doesn’t have any workbooks with her, since each school she goes to does things differently. But Brittany assures her that the teacher will give her everything she needs.

They all pack into the van and Mr Pierce drives them the short distance to the elementary school. Anthony and Brittany leap from the vehicle as soon as it’s stopped moving, running off onto the snow on the grass to begin lobbing snowballs at each other. Kelsey gets out a second later and runs off to scold them – throwing snow isn’t allowed on school property.

Lucy undoes her seatbelt and reaches for her bag, resting between her knees. But she hesitates in getting out of the car.

“Lucy,” Mr Pierce says gently, getting her attention. She looks up and he’s turned in his seat, watching her. “You’ll be fine, okay? Brittany will show you what room to go to.”

She gives him a shy nod. Then she hears her mother’s voice in her head, telling her shy girls never get anywhere in life. So she stops and then gives him a more forceful nod, showing she understands.

“It will be okay, Lucy. You’ll have fun. Have a good day.”

“Have a good day, too, Mr Pierce,” she says as she slips from the seat and out of the van.

Once the car has pulled away Anthony abandons them in favour of some other friends of his, with whom he continues to lob snowballs around until a teacher notices them. Kelsey skips off to go find some friends her own age. Brittany leads Lucy into the school and to the front office, where they need to sign Lucy in. Mrs Pierce has already arranged with the school and gotten Lucy enrolled, but they told her that Lucy still needs to go to the office on the first day. Lucy stands quietly while Brittany chats with the secretary, and doesn’t realise she’s allowed to leave until Brittany is tugging on her arm, trying to pull her away.

The first bell hasn’t rung yet, so the halls are relatively quiet and still. Their damp boots squeak on the floor as they walk down the halls. Brittany leads Lucy to her room, 211. After knocking on the open door, Brittany drags Lucy inside. Lucy’s new teacher, Ms Summers, is already inside. Brittany, friendly with everyone, explains to Ms Summers that Lucy is her new student, and that she’s fostering with Brittany’s family.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

“Alright,” she says to Brittany, “The bell will ring in a minute. Why don’t you head off to your own class, Lucy and I will be fine here.”

Brittany waves goodbye to Lucy before she leaves, smiling wide and wishing her good luck.

The teacher shows Lucy where she can hang her coat and which desk she can use. She gets Lucy her notebooks, and explains what they’ve been learning so far. Lucy’s last class was ahead of this one in Math, so she’s fine there. This class is learning something different for History, they’re in the middle of a unit, but Lucy assures the teacher that she’ll be able to catch up.

When the teacher asks Lucy her reading level, and explains what they’re doing in their English lessons, Lucy smiles, saying she won’t have a problem. She’s fairly certain she’s ahead of her grade level in reading.

The bell rings and students begin filing into the class, taking their seats and looking up curiously at her. Lucy stands nervously near the teacher’s desk, knowing Ms Summers is going to do the usual, “Class, this is Lucy, she’s new here. Everyone say hi.”

She does, and the class mumbles out a hello. What Lucy doesn’t expect is for the teacher to ask Lucy to say something about herself. She isn’t really sure what to say; not wanting everyone to know she isn’t allowed to live with her mother and hasn’t seen her father in months. Eventually, she stutters out that her family moves a lot, so she doesn’t watch a lot of television, but that she enjoys reading.

When she finishes talking, she cringes.

(Stuttering is not the way to make a good impression, Lucy.)

The teacher tells her to take a seat, so she does. They go through the morning routine and roll-call, the teacher scribbling Lucy’s name at the bottom of her list until a new one is printed.

“I hope everyone reviewed their spelling words for the week over the winter break, it's quiz time.” The class makes a collective moan, complaining that it’s not fair to have a quiz on the first day back, but the teacher presses on. “Alright, books away, pencils out.”

The other children shuffle at their desks, some taking last minute glances at word lists before stuffing them inside their desks and taking out their pencils and blank sheets of lined paper. Lucy follows suit, after tearing out a piece of paper she places the new notebooks from the teacher inside her desk along with her pencil case.

“Lucy,” Ms Summers says, laying a stern hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “You don’t have to write the quiz, you can join in with the class next week.”

“It’s alright,” Lucy assures the woman. Her desk is pressed into a group with three others, and the kids sitting at the desks are glaring at her, not impressed that she doesn’t have to join in their suffering. Lucy’s new, and she wants to fit in, so she insists she’ll write the spelling quiz, even if she hasn’t been able to study the words like the other children in the class.

The teacher moves away to retrieve her list of words from off her desk.

“She has glasses,” the boy at the desk right across from hers whispers to the girl next to him. “She’s probably a nerd anyway.”

The girl snickers, careful not to look at Lucy. “Loser. And it’s winter out, why is she wearing a dress? Doesn’t it snow where she comes from?”

Lucy looks down at her paper, slowly etching her name and the date in the top corner. She knows it’s cold out, but ladies wear dresses. Her mother makes sure. Her old school had a uniform, so all the girls had to wear a skirt. Her mother hardly ever lets her wear pants, especially not when she goes outside.

(Pants are for at home, Lucy. Only girls that are devilish tomboys wear pants to school.)

The teacher begins reading off the words as she slowly paces around the room, making sure no one is cheating. She reads a word and then pauses, giving them time to think and write it down before moving on. Lucy catches the pattern of the words fast enough; _acute, confuse, pollute_. They all have long ‘u’ sounds. She stumbles over _seclude_ , unsure if there’s a ‘c-k’ pair or just a ‘c,’ but other than that she makes it through the quiz easily.

She realises she has a shy smile on her face when she hands her paper in to the teacher as she moves around the room to collect them all, and immediately Lucy knows she’s made a mistake. The other kids at her table give her dark looks, clearly not agreeing with her in thinking the words weren’t difficult. She shies back in her seat, unsure of what to do.

Unless she is directly addressed by the teacher, Lucy doesn’t speak during the rest of the morning. The other three kids at her group of desks say mean things about her when they think she can’t hear. Lucy is used to being teased, and not just because she’s always the new girl. Kids are always mean to her. But she lets them, tries to ignore them, because her mother’s words of what makes a proper lady, and her father’s insistence that his little girl would never get into a fight, press into her constantly.

After the spelling quiz, the teacher gives her English lesson, teaching them something new about how letters and sounds go together, and gives them new spelling words for the week. She goes through each of the words, explaining how they’re spelt and what they mean. Lucy catches the pattern again, this time the words all have silent letters, like _ghost_ , and wonders if the other eight-year-olds catch on that the words are similar, of if they’re too unhappy about having to learn to spell properly to notice these kinds of things.

When they’re finished with the spelling words, the teacher makes the students get out their notebooks and asks them all to write about what they did for their winter vacation for her. A light chatter breaks out, kids happily scribbling and excitedly telling each other where they went or what presents they received.

In her loopy handwriting – her mother berates her father’s quick and messy scrawl often enough for Lucy to know she should always have proper writing – Lucy writes her name on the cover of the book and then flips to the first free page, dating it in the top corner. Then she stares down at the black paper for a while, unsure of what to write.

She assumes the teacher is going to mark what they write, or at least read them, so Lucy doesn’t know what to put exactly. She lets the eraser end of the pencil drag in loops across the page as she thinks, slowly tracing invisible designs, until it reminds her of the skating at city hall, drawing invisible shapes on the ice, and decides that’s a safe thing to write about. She keeps what she says proper, knowing this isn’t a diary, and not daring to mention the Pierces by name, simply saying _we went skating_ and _they taught me how to skate_. She’s still embarrassed that she’s staying with foster families now while her mother cleans up, and knows her mother and father both think too highly of themselves to want their business explained to everyone across the state.

As students start finishing writing Lucy sees them hand their notebooks into the teacher at her desk before going over to the small bookshelf and picking out something to read at their desk until everyone is finished. Lucy cranes her neck, trying to see the books across the room from her. Most of them are thin little chapter books or picture books.

She hands her own notebook in and then goes right back to her desk, pulling the book she borrowed from Mr Pierce out.

The girl sitting across the desks from her makes a noise as she does this, so Lucy looks up, curious. The girl’s eyes narrow, inspecting the thick book in Lucy’s hands. Then her lips curl into a wicked grin as she quickly pushes up from her seat. She darts across the room, dropping her notebook on the teacher’s desk before finding the boy who sits next to her standing at the bookshelf. She grabs his arms and whispers in his ear, glancing back at Lucy every few seconds.

They both start laughing and Lucy turns away.

The bell rings for morning recess and all the kids quickly scramble out of their seats, loud and clumsy as they throw on their winter gear and race down the halls to get outside. Lucy follows slowly, slipping on her coat and silently making her way outside.

It’s bright out, the sun high and reflecting on the snow on the ground. Lucy stands by the wall near the door she and her classmates all came out through, unsure where to go. Other children stream out the doors past her, and through the doors further down the side of the building, all running and laughing and screaming as they chase and play on the tarmac and the field further on.

Lucy shuffles from one foot to the other, feeling lost and alone. She’s used to the feeling by now, but it always stings a little, knowing she’s an outsider. At least at her old school, from when she lived with her mother, there were people she knew and played with at recess, usually skipping rope. Not really friends, but kids she knew at least.

It’s become a pattern now that at each school, she doesn’t really know anyone.

“Lucy!”

Startling, Lucy turns to find who’s calling her. It’s Brittany. She’d forgotten about Brittany. The blonde jogs over to her, the scarf Lucy saw her wearing on her first night at the Pierces blowing in the wind as she runs.

“Hi!” Brittany says excitedly when she comes to a sharp halt right in front of Lucy.

“Hi.”

“I figured I’d find you here somewhere,” Brittany says, eyes squinting slightly as she smiles.

“You came here looking for me?”

“Well, yeah,” Brittany says, like Lucy has just asked Brittany to confirm that there is snow on the ground. “Come on,” she says, reaching for Lucy’s hand, “If we’re quick we might be able to get the swings at the playground.”

Brittany tugs her into motion, dragging her along the tarmac towards the slide and swings set on the other side of the playground.

A few kids call out to Brittany as they make their way to the swings, asking her to join them in snow-soccer or tag. Brittany declines each offer, saying maybe next time, and continues leading Lucy along.

“You can go and play, if you want to,” Lucy says quietly, slowing and forcing Brittany to do the same.

“Well I can’t just leave you, that’d be mean,” Brittany states, frowning slightly at her. Then she looks down at Lucy’s feet, “And you can’t really join in, can you?”

Lucy looks down to see what Brittany is staring at. She’s wearing winter boots, just like Brittany is. “What’s wrong?”

Brittany shakes her head and smiles, “You’re wearing a skirt and stockings, silly! You can’t run on the field, you’ll get snow in your boots.” She sticks out her own leg, displaying how her pant leg fits snugly inside the boot, whereas Lucy’s stockings are thin and let her legs move around inside her boots, giving easy access for flying snow.

They make their way over to the swings, wherein Brittany stands on the edge of the playground, and looks innocent and sweet, silently watching the other kids until eventually someone gives in to her doe-eyes and gets off their swing. She and Lucy take turns, and the fun she has outside for those few minutes of freedom make up for her morning.

By the end of the week, Lucy’s days all seem the same. She stays quiet in her class, only speaking when the teacher addresses her directly. She tries not to make it seem like she’s enjoying learning, and is hyper aware of every look and every whisper her classmates make. She doesn’t fit in, she knows it. Some of the kids ignore her, others make it known that they think she’s different, that she’s chubby and ugly and a suck-up to the teacher.

But scattered through her silent torment are pockets of freedom with Brittany that make Lucy feel like someone likes her for who she is. Brittany doesn’t judge her or make fun of her, and she doesn’t make it seem like she feels obligated to keep Lucy company. Brittany genuinely wants to spend time with her.

She doesn’t tell Mr and Mrs Pierce that the other kids don’t like her when they ask her how her days go, instead, she demurely tells them what she’s learned or what she found interesting. She knows it would make them upset if they knew the other kids were slowly becoming more and more comfortable picking on her. Plus, for Lucy, this isn’t anything new.

She knows she’s one of those kids, the ones that no one likes, that everyone secretly – or openly – makes fun of. This class is no different than any other she’s been in. So she doesn’t want to worry them.

(Never bother adults with your childish problems, Lucy, adults have their own things to worry about.)

It’s hard, being in school when the other kids pick on her, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

* * *

It rains all weekend. By first recess of her second Monday at her newest school, it is no longer raining, but the ground is soggy and squishy under her boots, and the blacktop is flooded, with large puddles everywhere. Most of the snow has been beaten away by the force of the rain, which makes everything even damper. The pavement under her feet is black, the ground a muddy brown, and the sky a dull grey.

She’s standing near her door, shivering. Normally she meets Brittany at the door close to the other girl’s classroom, since Brittany tends to dawdle in getting outside for recess. But right now Lucy feels miserable.

While she was exiting the school, a boy in her class shoved her on his way out, turning and laughing as she tripped and landed on her hands and knees in a puddle. Some of the other children in her class saw and joined in the laughter, the girl who sits across from her going so far as to chant ‘loser’ and purposely splash more water at her before they all ran off.

Lucy got to her feet and tried her best to wipe off her knees. Her stockings are ripped at the knees, covered with bits of gravel and dots of blood. Her palms look about the same. Her dress is fine, but her coat is damp and now there’s water in her boots.

She’s so cold.

She isn’t crying, though. Her eyes watered and stung, but she had bitten her lip and forced herself not to cry as they teased her. Crying would make it worse, she knew. She didn’t even need her mother’s voice in her head to tell her that much.

Wincing, she presses one palm against the wall of the school and balances on one foot, carefully draining the water from one boot and then the other. When she’s finished her toes squish at the feeling of the damp material, but she knows there’s nothing she can do.

They don’t like her here. But that isn’t really anything new. They don’t like her anywhere.

On Friday there were ten notes in her desk when she sat down in the morning. All were written in red crayon, saying variations of “you’re an ugly, fat pig” or “only losers wear glasses.” Burning with shame she had shoved them back into her desk before anyone around her had noticed.

Spotting Brittany moving across the pavement towards her, Lucy sighs.

She hasn’t made any friends. Her classmates either ignore her or harass her. The only person who seems to like her is Brittany. But Lucy just doesn’t know with Brittany, because Brittany seems to like everyone. Does she genuinely like Lucy, or is she only nice to her because Lucy lives with her?

Brittany makes her way over to where Lucy stands, seemingly splashing and avoiding puddles at random. There’s a girl Lucy doesn’t know tagging along after Brittany.

When Brittany reaches her she pauses, taking Lucy in. After a beat, she asks, “What happened?” Her eyebrows pull together and her face scrunches, looking concerned.

“I…” Lucy sighs in a defeated way, and answers with, “fell.”

It’s not that she wants to lie to Brittany, she knows lying’s wrong. But she doesn’t want to make Brittany worry; this happens everywhere Lucy goes, the teasing is nothing new. Brittany is sunny and happy and a nice person, Lucy doesn’t want to ruin that by bursting Brittany’s bubble by telling her that there are mean and nasty people in the world, some of which are only eight years old.

Brittany shakes her head, easily believing Lucy’s fib. “We need to work on your balance,” she says. She turns, beckoning the stranger closer. “Lucy, this is Priya, she’s in my class. Her friend Abbey is sick today so she’s going to play with us, okay?”

Lucy blinks a few times, a little taken back. She isn’t sure what the appropriate response to Brittany’s question is. What say does she have if Brittany brings a friend into their little world?

“Hello,” the other girl says.

“Hi,” Lucy says quickly, knocking her knees together and nervously looking away.

In this world, Lucy, with her big nose and her glasses and her baby fat is the outsider. In her mother’s world, this girl with her rich skin and dark hair would be the outsider. Lucy stills, forcing down all the negative things her mother would have to say about this girl, simply because of the colour of her skin.

Her mother isn’t mean, she doesn’t automatically hate people based on where they come from. Her father does, but her mother doesn’t. Her mother simply looks down a little on people different from her, who may not be pale and fancy and Christian. Her mother grew up in a world where that was okay.

Her father, on the other hand, makes rude comments during certain parts of news programs that Lucy knows never to repeat. Never ever.

The three stand silently for a moment, Priya watching Lucy, Lucy looking away, and Brittany giving her happy-puppy smile. Normally Lucy and Brittany go play on the swings, or walk around the field as Brittany talks and talks and talks. Sometimes she talks about school, sometimes she talks about make-believe things, and a lot of the time she talks about dance. Lucy isn’t really sure what to do with this new girl here.

“Priya plays soccer, she’s really good,” Brittany says eventually, filling the gap in the conversation.

“Oh?” Lucy questions, still a little thrown by the situation altogether.

The other girl nods happily, “Yeah, I’m on a team and everything. My father wants me to play in the World Cup, but for now, I play outdoor during the summer and indoor during the winter. It’s a lot of fun.” She smiles hesitantly at Lucy, “Do you play any sports?”

Lucy vigorously shakes her head no.

(Little girls don’t play sports, Lucy. Athletics are for boys. Proper girls are cheerleaders and supportive wives, but they never participate.)

Lucy wonders if dance counts as a sport, and if her mother would make an exception to her rule if it were, since Lucy knows how much Brittany loves dance.

“What… what’s the World Cup?” she asks instead.

Priya’s eyes go wide with excitement as she launches into an explanation; Lucy gathers from it that it’s a big deal soccer game. She’s never heard of it, but her father is only into football and her mother doesn’t enjoy sports altogether, so.

The trio begins to walk around the pavement as they talk, avoiding the water-logged field and kids running around jumping in puddles. The conversation slides from soccer to gym class to Brittany and Priya replaying to Lucy a story of what happened in their classroom earlier that morning. Lucy stays quiet and listens mostly. The other girl seems nice enough, Lucy doesn’t want to say anything to give Priya a reason not to like her.

When the bell rings Priya takes off, Brittany insisting she’ll catch up in a minute. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Yes?” Lucy questions. Aside from being very cold, she’s pretty sure she’s alright.

“You were really quiet.”

“I’m just… not a lot of people like me here,” she tries to explain. “She’s your friend, I didn’t want her to… to…” She fumbles and trails off, not sure how to say what she wants to say. “I don’t want her to not like you because you’re friends with me.”

Brittany pulls her lip in between her teeth, contemplating this. Her eyes are soft as she studies Lucy, carefully reading between the lines of what Lucy isn’t saying and drawing a meaning. “You want her to like you. Since she’s my friend you want her to be friendly with you too?” When Lucy nods slightly Brittany continues, “Well, if you don’t talk, then how will she be able to like you?”

“I don’t…”

“It isn’t hard to make friends, Lucy,” Brittany says, stepping closer and laying a hand on Lucy’s arm. “Just be yourself. If people don’t like that, you shouldn’t want them as your friends.” Her voice is honest and sure, confident in her words.

Other children move past them as they stand still on the tarmac. They brush past, some still laughing and some complaining that their recess is already over. Lucy looks nervously down at her feet, feeling intimidated by Brittany.

Brittany is pretty, that’s what it comes down to. Brittany is pretty and friendly and talkative, she doesn’t limit herself with rules of behaviour or trying to impress people. She isn’t shy, but she’s still polite and easy to get along with. People like her.

Lucy is the opposite in every way possible.

She doesn’t have friends, because most people don’t like her. She doesn’t have friends, because she doesn’t know how to make them.

When there’s next to no one left on the playground they part, knowing they’ll both be late. Lucy walks back towards her door, wondering if she’s somehow upset Brittany, because to her, Brittany is perfect and Lucy herself nowhere near.

* * *

In the evenings she and Brittany sit on either side of the watermelon rug in Brittany’s room, backs against their beds, and do their homework. Or, well, Lucy does her homework. Brittany fidgets and doodles and hums as she attempts her work. Lucy always sits up straight, her back pressed against the frame of the bed, with her legs curled under her to one side, notebook in her lap. Brittany seems to shift through different sitting positions; sometimes her legs are stretched out in front of her, sometimes they’re crossed, sometimes she lies on her stomach and kicks her feet in the air, and a few times she tries to lie on her back and do her work, holding the book above her.

Kelsey hardly has any homework to do since she’s younger, and Lucy suspects Anthony has to do his at the kitchen table so Mrs. Pierce can make sure he actually does his work.

“What’s sediment?” Brittany asks. It’s the evening after the incident on the playground, where Brittany brought Priya into their group.

Brittany is finishing a science worksheet. Lucy’s class had to do the same one; they watched a video and then had to fill in the sheet during the last few minutes of class, and any questions they didn’t finish they had to do at home. Lucy finished hers, and is doing the long division homework her teacher assigned the day before.

Lucy looks up from her page, pushing her glasses back into place as she tries to think of a way to explain. “It’s like small bits of plants and rocks and… and dead animals, little things that get moved around by wind and water.”

“So why is it talking about a lake?” Brittany asks, waving the worksheet in the air.

“Sediment builds up at the bottom of liquids, so riverbeds and lakes and streams.” They had explained this in the video, but Lucy wonders how much attention Brittany paid, she’s learned pretty fast that Brittany gets bored easily. And when she gets bored she gets antsy and stops paying attention.

“So, like, the squishy gross mud at the beach? Like it’s sand and then all of a sudden it’s gross stuff under your toes?”

Lucy blinks, not really sure how to answer. She’s never been to a beach. “I… I guess so.”

Brittany bobs her head happily and goes back to the worksheet, chewing on her pencil. Lucy asked her once why they do homework in her room and not at a table, and Brittany had explained that she has to sit at a table all day, why would she want to do it for longer? Plus, her room is bright and colourful and the kitchen isn’t, and the watermelon rug is more comfortable to sit on than a wooden kitchen chair.

They work quietly for a little while longer. Lucy is trying to work out a particularly difficult math question when Brittany asks again, “So, if sediment is the stuff, then… sedimentation is how it’s made?”

Lucy nods, looking up.

“Awesome, I’m finished this then,” she says, lifting her arms above her head in a silent cheer.

Lucy can’t help but smile a little bit. Brittany’s happy energy is contagious sometimes. She goes back to her math sheet, suddenly seeing what she’s doing wrong and quickly erasing her work and writing down the proper answer. She tries to move onto the next, but becomes aware of how quiet and still the room is.

She looks up, finding Brittany watching her. “What?” she asks nervously.

Brittany shakes her head, still thinking. Lucy waits, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under Brittany’s gaze. Brittany doesn’t normally make her feel uncomfortable, but right now she is. Right now Brittany is looking at her with a contemplative frown that sets Lucy on edge.

Immediately she wonders what she’s done wrong.

“Did you have a lot of friends in your old school, when you still lived with your parents?”

Lucy is a little shocked with how blunt the question is. It takes her a few seconds to realise what Brittany is asking her, and then a few more to push down the shameful heat rising inside her. “I… I had… no. Not really.”

Brittany sits quietly, her body upright and her legs crossed under her, her full attention on Lucy. Realising Brittany wants her to elaborate, Lucy continues, “I… people don’t like me. They look at me and… I’m not the kind of… I’m not like… I don’t…” She struggles to find her words and all of a sudden she’s crying; big, wet tears trailing down her cheeks.

Brittany scoots over right away, pulling Lucy into a warm hug. She presses her body against Lucy, trying to push Lucy’s unhappy feelings out. When she pulls back she reaches up and behind Lucy, retrieving Gideon from where he’s been staying on Lucy’s bed.

Lucy takes the stuffed goat and automatically hugs it against her body, pressing her lips into the top of his head for a moment as she composes herself, trying to push everything else away. She understands why Brittany and Kelsey sleep with stuffed animals now. Not because they’re babies, like the kids at school might imply, but because they can give comfort, even if they’re not real.

She’s still learning about make-believe from Brittany, but she’s caught onto the make-believe of stuffed animals the fastest.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Lucy looks up to see Brittany’s worried face, eyes wide and lips drawn into a thin line. She’s still hovering close to Lucy, but her hands are down at her sides. She isn’t vibrating with her usual energy, instead, she’s unnaturally still and quiet.

Lucy looks down, ashamed, as she replies, “It’s okay.”

“It’s never okay to make someone cry.”

Lucy wishes Brittany would tell all the mean kids at school this, but she knows it wouldn’t help. They would still make fun of Lucy. Lucy will always be the outcast, the one other kids look down on. But she doesn’t know if she can find words to explain this to Brittany, someone who’s always been surrounded by people who want to be her friend.

“You didn’t trip today, did you?” Brittany asks slowly, glancing down at Lucy’s knees.

“No.”

“Are they picking on you?”

Lucy doesn’t give a verbal answer, simply hugs the stuffed animal closer.

“You should have told me.”

“What could you do, though?” Her words are soft, light from her tears. “It’s… it’s always like this. I’m just… one of the kids others make fun of.”

“That isn’t nice.”

“It doesn’t have to be nice. Some… some people are better than others. They pick on people not as good as they are.”

Brittany gives a little gasp and shakes her head, “No. No that’s not true.”

“It is. Daddy used to say it all the time; some people are better than others.”

“No,” Brittany insists. “No, he’s wrong. Those kids are mean, but they aren’t better. No one is better than anyone else.”

“But-” Lucy tries. Her father is always right, always.

Brittany doesn’t let her continue though, “No. Lucy, listen. Yellow isn’t better than pink or blue. Cats aren’t better than dogs or rabbits. You might _like_ one better, but that doesn’t _make_ it better than all the rest. That isn’t how things work.”

It’s what her father has always said, that God simply made some people better than others, but she finds herself wanting to believe Brittany. Her words are so honest and desperate, gently tapping against Lucy’s skin, trying to reach her deep inside.

They sit together in silence for a long while, Lucy feeling ashamed and Brittany waiting for Lucy to speak. Eventually, Lucy admits, “I’ve never had any friends because… I don’t know how to make them.”

Brittany breaths slowly for a few minutes; Lucy can feel her thinking. “You…” She pauses, chewing her lip for a moment. Then she shuffles around, so she’s sitting face to face with Lucy, looking her in the eyes. “I thought everyone knew how to make friends, but, maybe you don’t.” Her words sting Lucy inside until, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t learn.”

“Learn?”

Brittany nods, a slow smile forming on her face. “Making friends is… like baking cookies.”

Lucy cannot help the giggle she makes, “Baking cookies?”

“Yep. Have you ever baked cookies?”

Lucy nods, she has. She’s helped her mother bake cookies for Church events.

Then you already know how to start.”

“Making the dough?” Her tears are now dry on her cheeks, her attention focused solely on Brittany’s words and the distraction they offer.

Brittany laughs, “We’re _making_ friends, not eating them. No, first you have to try a bunch of different things. Like with ingredients for cookies, it’s boring if you follow the same recipe over and over again. When my mom and Kelsey and me make cookies they’re different every time. You try out different things to add. That’s like with making friends. You have to try and meet different people and see which ones you like.

“You can’t be shy, not all the time. Like when you add the sugar to the dough. You can’t be shy, or they won’t come out right. But you can’t press too hard, like adding too much sugar, otherwise, people will know you aren’t being sincere. Does that make sense so far?”

Lucy nods a little bit. Yes, yes it does.

“So you have to try and meet different people, and test out different things. And you can’t be too shy, or people will know you’re scared. Then you have to make fun as you mix the dough altogether, throw the flour at people. You have to smile and make eye-contact, so the person knows you’re listening and interested in them.”

Brittany rises up, sitting on her knees and beginning to bounce a little bit in her excitement, like she’s happy Lucy is following her train of thought so far. “After you mix the dough and form them into little shapes, you put the cookies in the oven. And then you have to wait. And while you’re waiting, you talk. You try to pass the time while you and your sister impatiently stand next to the oven door. That’s what you have to do with people. You have to talk with them. If you stand there silently they can’t learn anything about you and won’t be able to decide if they like you. You have to talk.” 

“About what?” Lucy asks, starting to grow anxious.

“Hmm, little things at first, I guess. Try to learn things about them. Stuff they like. Maybe see if you have things in common. Stuff like that?”

Lucy nods, but she’s starting to feel intimidated now. There are a lot of things to remember.

“When you take them out of the oven, and they’ve cooled off, then you get to eat them.”

“I thought you said we weren’t eating our new friends.”

Brittany huffs, “I wasn’t finished yet! When you eat them, you share them in a big group. If we make cookies, we share them with my dad and the boys. We hang out and have fun and munch on fresh cookies. That’s what you have to do with friends too, you have to see them and talk with them more than once. You have to give them time to get to know you better.”

“Alright,” Lucy says, hoping she can remember this.

“And Lucy? Not everyone is nice and wants to be friends. Some people are just mean. It’s hard to find the right ones – like picking out the raisin cookies from the chocolate chip ones. If people are mean to you, you don’t want to be friends with them. Friends are people who like you for you, who don’t want you to change who you are.”

Lucy smiles slightly, knowing Brittany is right, “Okay.”

* * *

The next day at recess Lucy meets up with Brittany, who has Priya with her. “Abbey has the chicken pocks,” Brittany explains.

“She’s my best friend, but I haven’t gotten to see her since Friday, and that was ages ago!” Priya exclaims. Her voice is rich-sounding, pronouncing her words in a way Lucy has never heard before. Her accent is slight, but pretty. Lucy finds herself wanting to hear the other girl speak more, just so she can hear her words.

She makes eye-contact with Brittany, who nods her head encouragingly at Lucy. Priya is a good person to try testing how to make friends on. She’s already friends with Brittany, and she isn’t in Lucy’s class and influenced to not like her because the other kids don’t.

“Well,” she starts, “We can keep you company until she gets back.”

Priya grins, “That sounds okay. What do you like to do for fun, Lucy?”

“I…”

Brittany elbows her, knowing she’s being shy. “Lucy likes to read. She’s read like, a _tonne_ of books.”

“Not a tonne,” she says softly, still nervous around this new girl. She doesn’t want to show off her love of books, one of the things the other kids tease her for, saying she’s a nerd and a geek and a loser. She doesn’t want to give Priya a reason to hate her, not already.

But Priya smiles, “What’s your favourite book?”

“ _A Little Princess_ ,” Lucy answers right away, a knee-jerk reaction. She loves that book more than she’s ever loved anything else.

“I’ve never read that. My favourite is _Watership Down._ ”

Lucy smiles, because she’s read that too.

Brittany looks between the two of them, thinking, before offering, “I like the _Spiderman_ comics.”

Lucy giggles, Priya laughs outright.


	4. The Final Lesson

It took a lot of work to get where she is now.

Quinn. She’s Quinn now.

The first step came half-way through seventh grade, when she was humiliated beyond belief at a school dance – why had she even _gone?_ Humiliated _Carrie_ style. Lucy had hated herself for a long time before that – the bullying, the teasing, the jokes, the looks, the smirks – but never more in that moment did she hate who she was. Never had she hated who she saw in the mirror than in that moment. It was that moment she knew she needed to change. She needed to strip herself down and build herself back up again, the way she wanted to, the way she dreamt of but never thought possible.

The way her mother had always wanted her to be.

The second step was actually doing something about it. First, she bought a calendar and hung it in her bathroom, behind the door. Then she bought a scale, and recorded what it said each day. Motivation. She wanted to be like the pretty girls in her class. The pretty and popular ones that everyone loved. She didn’t want to be the ugly, overweight outcast anymore.

She went on runs, every night. Hard at first, but pushing herself to go further and further without breaks each time. Only at night though, when people wouldn’t recognise her. She stopped eating anything sweet altogether. She ate healthily; she didn’t starve herself. She worked for what she wanted.

In the beginning of eighth grade, she worked up the courage to ask her mother to enrol her in gymnastics and dance classes. The gymnastics first, she wanted to build her body up. The dance came later, when she didn’t feel so much like a graceless elephant. It was hard; all the other girls knew she didn’t fit in there. Whether it was trying to do cartwheels or pirouettes, they knew, and she knew. She didn’t belong. But she worked silently, watching her instructors, and watching her peers. Watched how they moved, how they interacted, how the commanded.

The final step came when her dad got a raise at work. They moved, and she was enrolled in a new district for high school. And that summer, she asked for the nose job, dyed her hair, and asked for her parents to call her by her middle name. She went to cheer camp after her surgery healed, the final thing she needed. She wasn’t just going to be some new girl named Quinn now. She was going to be _Quinn_ : popular, beautiful, a cheerleader. That summer was her transition, the final stages in locking Lucy away for good. At camp, she learned how to manipulate her body, and to manipulate people.

On the first day of high school, she is ready.

Quinn hardly interacts with anyone during the first day. Even though all the freshmen are new to the school, she still has the air of the _new girl_ about her, because she didn’t go to middle school with any of them. But for now, she wants to keep that mystery. She hasn’t yet ascended to the ranks of the naturally popular girls, but that’s okay.

For now, it’s okay to keep quiet, to keep the mystery about her. Not the nerdy, shy quiet though. She ignores most of the students around her, and so what if they think she’s a bitch? She plans to be popular, and being popular means only associating with other popular students.

She won’t fall back into the trap of Lucy, being weak and a loser and letting others walk all over her. _That’s_ why she doesn’t interact with anyone. Because if she did, Lucy would surface, and try and be nice and sweet to everyone. And that isn’t her anymore. She’s Quinn now. Quinn is popular. Quinn is beautiful.

And Quinn? Well, she can be a bitch. All part of the image.

Cheerleading tryouts are held the first day, once school ends. After only a few hours inside McKinley High Quinn learns that the cheerleaders and football players really do rule the school. The girls twirl by in their pleated reds, and the boys swagger past in their Letterman’s jackets.

She also learns pretty quickly that cheerleading isn’t just taken seriously by the school population, but by the cheer coach herself.

All the freshmen girls that are trying out are ordered into the gym, the coach berating them with her bullhorn the whole time. Some of the other girls around her seem to think it is an act, this woman’s mad preaching. But Quinn knows it isn’t; the coach is serious in every single thing she tells the new girls. She isn’t going to let just anyone on her squad.

Quinn isn’t just anyone.

Lucy had been. But Lucy is gone now.

Quinn sits on the bleachers in the gym with the twenty or so other freshmen girls who are trying out for the squad. The sign-up list had been longer, but a large handful of girls had left whimpering the first time the coach addressed the group. Good for them. It meant less competition for Quinn.

The group sits and listens as the coach drills her expectations and laws into them further. Then she walks to the lone table that is set up, list of names waiting on top, and sits down, her back to the girls. She starts calling names, one by one.

Quinn watches silently, inspecting every girl. Some take it seriously, but most seem to think cheerleading might be a fun thing to try. It won’t be fun, the coach has assured them that. But Quinn watches. She watches the awkward and stiff girls, the bubbly and giggly girls, the nervous and scared girls. A few have confidence and potential.

None of them wants this as much as she does though.

The girls on the bench whisper, in between routines and during them. Some talk about how scary the coach is. Others criticise the girls trying out, commenting on looks, weight, and personality. But Quinn knows those aren’t the deciding factors. Yes, the coach wants pretty, skinny, enthusiastic girls. But it’s the passion that matters, how much they want this.

Just from watching Quinn can see which girls know each other, which girls went to the same middle schools. She’s the odd one out here, the only new girl among them. The others all have at least one other person they can whisper with. But that doesn’t matter to Quinn.

Two girls, down on the end of the front row, Quinn can see they stand out. They didn’t just go to the same middle school, don’t just share the ‘I never talked with you last year but now we need to stick together’ quick friendship the others are making. Quinn can see they’re actually close friends. They talk only with each other, hands clasped between them. Their bodies hover close together as they affectionately touch each other’s hair or knees.

The darker one stands when the coach barks out the name, “Lopez, Santana!”

She’s beautiful, in her looks and in how she carries herself. Her tanned skin doesn’t ghost in the harsh light, her dark hair isn’t pulled into a bushy mess. She walks with confident, if not casual, steps towards the centre of the gym to begin her routine.

When she moves, Quinn can see the wildness inside her. This girl has passion. Her movements quick and fast and precise. She has cockiness too. When all the other girls finished their routine they don’t dare to meet the coach’s eyes, instead looking out nervously at the sea of judging girls.

Santana cocks a hip and looks directly at the coach, waiting. She knows she was good, and is waiting for the coach to acknowledge it. The coach gives a slight nod and Santana smirks as she glides back to the bench, revelling in the nervous and jealous looks from the other girls on the bleachers.

When the coach reads out the name, “Pierce, Brittany!” the lighter of the pair leaps to her feet and skips towards their make-shift stage.

Where Santana had sureness in her movements, Brittany has grace. Quinn can see that she’s a dancer through-and-through. Some of the other girls have probably been to cheer camp, or done gymnastics or a year or two of dance. Not this girl. Quinn can see that the girl on the floor lives and breathes dance. Her body flows effortlessly through her moves, not with rehearsed but with natural ease. It looks almost like she’s swimming, how easily each step comes to her.

Her routine ends with her dropping down painlessly into the splits, and she has the audacity to flash a winning smile, like she too knows she’s got this. Some of the other girls smiled nervously without making eye contact with the coach, if at all. Brittany smiles happily, teeth showing. When the coach gives her a nod Brittany leaps up to her feet and gives a little fist pump before making her way back to the bleachers.

Santana, Quinn sees, smiles her encouragements for Brittany where she’d looked on impassively at all the others.

There’s only one problem.

Quinn is sure she’s seen Brittany before. She can’t place where yet, but she knows her from somewhere.

Which is bad. Because it isn’t Quinn that recognises Brittany, it’s Lucy. This girl knowing her could be Quinn’s downfall, this could ruin everything. She’s worked so hard, come too far to be brought down by some blonde dancer who may recognise Lucy. She won’t let this happen.

“Fabray, Quinn!”

Quinn stands and silently walks down the bleacher steps, the other girls watching her the whole time. They all seem to know she’s new. Even though they all come from a few different middle schools in the area, they all seem to know she isn’t one of them.

She isn’t one of them. She’s better than them.

Stepping down onto the floor she hesitates, nerves suddenly building up. The fear that she _isn’t_ better than them, that this will all crumble before her, fall apart before her eyes, suddenly becomes so intense it momentarily freezes her. What if they can see through her? What if the coach can see through her? What if-

No. That’s Lucy. _Lucy_ was afraid. _Lucy_ was weak. _Lucy_ was a chubby loser with no friends. _Lucy_ had no place on a cheer squad.

But she isn’t Lucy anymore.

Sucking in a deep breath, Quinn squares her shoulders and sets a determined look on her face as she approaches the middle of the gym. So what if she’s the new girl? _Quinn_ enjoys the mystery being the new girl creates; none of them know what to expect with her. All they see is a stunning-looking and confidence-breathing girl.

Quinn locks eyes with the coach as she starts, because ultimately it’s the coach she needs to impress to pass the first test. Impress the coach, get on the squad. Once she’s on the squad, then the intimidating of the other girls will come into play. For now, only the coach’s opinion is what’s important.

She flows through her moves easily enough, her body remembering each move and performing it as it’s supposed to. _Lucy_ would be winded after only a few steps, but Quinn nails her routine. She doesn’t smile, not like Brittany did. Instead, her lips hold a confident grin, but nothing cocky like Santana wore. Quinn’s smile is precise and practised, eyes bright with determination and lips curling into a secretive smirk.

When she finishes, Quinn knows she needs to make a statement. She can’t stand still and avoid the coach’s eyes like the others, and she can’t simply stare her down like Brittany and Santana did. No, she needs to be bold. She needs to be commanding and show everyone, the coach especially, just what she’s here for.

She finishes, flashing a fully fake grin at her crowd, the grin all cheerleaders learn to master, before locking eyes with the coach. “Well?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

It took weeks to master that, the eyebrow arching.

But it was so worth it.

If she’s surprised, the coach doesn’t show it. There’s a collective gasp from the bleachers, running up through the levels in a wave. Quinn has been the only one to address the coach. But the woman herself holds back any surprise she has at Quinn’s address. Instead, her eyebrows draw together and she studies Quinn, looking her up and down.

_Lucy_ would squirm in discomfort. Quinn doesn’t even hold her breath in anticipation as the judgement of her is made. Quinn _knows_ she was good.

“Nicely done, Q,” the coach finally says, her words slow and calculated. She’s grinning like a Cheshire cat though, and Quinn knows she’s impressed.

Quinn doesn’t need to look at the wide-eyed, gaping stares the other girls are giving her as she walks back. She holds her head high, steps with determination, and goes back to her seat. She doesn’t need them to show her they’re shocked-yet-impressed, she wants them to know she expects them to be, as if nothing else is acceptable.

She’s spent a long time building this new persona of Quinn. Everything is perfectly planned out.

Once the tryouts are finished the coach barks at them through her bullhorn; Quinn refuses to flinch like the others do. The woman gets them to run laps around the gym, to the grievances of many of the girls, who don’t think it’s fair they need to run laps if they haven’t even made the team yet.

Quinn doesn’t grumble, but nor does she leap into an enthusiastic run like some of the girls, hoping to impress the coach. Brittany runs with enthusiasm too, but she seems to be a different category all her own. The other girls who are throwing themselves into the motions are begging for the coach’s attention, hoping to impress her. But Quinn knows the woman is hardly paying them attention, at least not for their enthusiasm for running.

Right now, all the coach is looking for is the true athletes among the wannabees.

Lucy was no athlete.

Quinn is.

And it’s for this reason that Quinn knows that she doesn’t need to lead the pack. She doesn’t need to be the fastest, not right now. The coach is looking for stamina, girls who are physically up to enduring whatever torture she’ll put them through. And torture she’ll put them through, Quinn can tell from the look in her eyes.

After the initial few laps, where a few of the girls used up all their energy in useless trying to be noticed by the coach, the group falls into a steady rhythm. Brittany and a dark-skinned girl named “Armstrong, Tammy!” are at the front of the group; Quinn listened to each and every girl’s name. If she wants to fit in, if she wants to be the best, she needs to know exactly who will fall in line behind her and who she has to beat down. She needs to know them all by name.

Quinn doesn’t need to be first, but she still needs to prove herself. She stays a few paces behind Brittany and the other girl.

She happens to be in-step with Santana, who also seems to be using Quinn’s plan of needing to be fast but not necessarily the fastest. Santana doesn’t force herself to keep up with her friend, instead stays a few steps behind, running at an even pace.

Santana, it seems, is the only one Quinn has to look out for.

Quinn would go with the whole, ‘keep your enemies closer’ tactic, she would. Except, at this point, allies might be better than enemies. And Santana? Definitely the kind of ally she wants. Because Santana knows how to play the game. She has the looks to become popular, and the attitude to stay popular. She brushes off the stares of the other girls around her because she _knows_ she’s better than them. She doesn’t bother with them.

Quinn doesn’t know if Santana was popular in her middle school, or if, like Quinn, she’s building herself up now. But it doesn’t matter. Because Santana has the same air about her Quinn does, the need to be on top. She wants this the way the other girls don’t. They want to be cheerleaders because they think it might be fun, win them dates, make others think they’re pretty. Santana, and Quinn alike, want the power of popularity, and know cheerleading is the only way to the top. They both know this won’t be fun, won’t be easy, but are willing to risk it if it means they can rule.

Santana could be a good ally, and Quinn isn’t going to waste the opportunity. She wants Santana to know she’s in it for the same reason she is, she wants Santana to take her seriously, not to write her off like she’s probably done with the other’s they’re running with.

But Quinn knows the game. She’ll make the first move, she’s not afraid of that, but she has to be sure first.

She runs in time with Santana for the first few laps, keeping Brittany and the other girl at a constant distance ahead of her. Then, when she feels the back of the pack start to fall further and further away, Quinn pushes a little bit harder. She runs, feet pounding on the tile floor, and slowly closes the gap between her and the two girls in the lead. Not by much, she doesn’t want to overcome them, she just wants to see what Santana will do.

Santana does exactly what Quinn hopes she would do. She pushes just as hard, increasing her speed to match Quinn, stride for stride. Santana is definitely playing the same game Quinn is; she doesn’t have to be fastest, but she won’t let anyone else be faster.

After a moment Quinn eases up, sliding back into her steady rhythm from before. Santana stays ahead a few steps, but eventually, she realises Quinn isn’t beside her any longer. Quinn sees her toss her head and give a little snort in annoyance before she too slows slightly.

Quinn has a sinking suspicion that Santana may have chosen her the same way she chose Santana.

After another three laps of matching pace with Santana, Quinn is thinking out exactly what she wants to say to the other girl, but Santana speaks first.

“You were good,” she says, words heavy as she runs. The way she says it makes it sound not just as a compliment, but as a statement of fact. Like Santana expected her to be good from the moment she walked into the gym, and Quinn lived up to it.

“So were you,” Quinn returns, watching. Santana’s face remains impassive, like she expects everyone to tell her this, like this is nothing new. “So was she,” Quinn adds, nodding her head towards Brittany.

It’s easy to see that the two are a packaged deal. Santana has the attitude for greatness, and Brittany has the moves for greatness. If she wants to win Santana over, she needs to comment on the potential she sees in Brittany too, like letting Santana know she approves of the darker girl’s choice in friends.

It’s a risk, because Quinn is still sure she knows Brittany from somewhere. From somewhere back when she was Lucy. But she knows if she wants this, not just to be popular, a cheerleader, but to be the _best_ , _leader_ of the popular crowd, then she can’t do this alone. Santana is an obvious choice. And even if they weren’t attached at the hip, Brittany would be too. Brittany was the only other girl to walk to the center-floor like she owned it, look the coach in the eyes after her routine, and walk back to the bleachers knowing she aced it. Brittany may be bubbly to Santana’s prickly, and maybe a little too bubbly for this particular cheer coach’s atmosphere, but Quinn needs Brittany too.

It’s this comment, and Santana’s reaction to it, that lets Quinn know she’s in. Santana smiles and gives a slight nod, turning her head slightly to look at Quinn as they run. It isn’t the hard look she’s worn all afternoon, bored and unimpressed with her competition. This look is one of a lioness strategizing with another member of her pride to take down a kill. Not friendship, they aren’t there yet, but comradery. Alliance.

“Damn right she was,” Santana says, a playful smirk breaking out.

* * *

It's a few days later and Quinn is in the locker room; not the cheerleader’s special locker room, she isn’t officially on the squad yet. She’s made it through the first two waves of freshmen cuts though. And, as it’s worth mentioning, so have Santana and Brittany.

It's a few days later and Quinn has realised where she knows Brittany from. Quinn – no, Lucy, _Lucy_ spent time living at Brittany’s house when her mother was under investigation by Child Services. _Lucy_ lived with Brittany and her family as a foster child. _Lucy_ made friends with the bubbly blonde when they were much younger.

So far, her Quinn persona is holding up. Brittany hasn’t said anything about recognizing Quinn. Maybe she does look different enough that Brittany won’t notice. Or maybe Brittany doesn’t remember Lucy well enough to remember in the first place.

It’s risky, the slow alliance she’s building with Santana and Brittany. Brittany could ruin her at any moment. But she needs Brittany and Santana if she’s going to make it here.

Quinn is sitting on the bench, having changed out of her gym clothes and back into her dress, and is doing up the strappy sandals on her feet. She longs for the day she can be like the older girls, who wear their uniforms every day to school, showing everyone just how worthy they are.

Santana is at the sinks, fixing her makeup in the mirror. And Brittany is dancing around the room, rapping out lyrics to some song Quinn has never heard. Brittany is just as bubbly and ridiculous as Quinn remembers her.

There are two other almost-Cheerios – “Jules, Sara!” and “Anderson, Katie!” – in the locker room with them, giggling softly to themselves as they finish changing. Quinn doesn’t really mind that they’re there; they aren’t half bad as cheerleaders, they’ve made it past the first waves of cuts, just like Quinn has. All the really annoying girls and the girls who don’t take it seriously have been weeded out.

But clearly, Santana has other ideas. Quinn watches as Santana catches Sara’s attention through the mirror, her hand pausing where she’s been holding the eyeliner pencil and her eyes widening expectantly, waiting. Sara doesn’t catch on quick enough to what Santana wants, so Santana darkens her expression, glaring at her through the mirror.

Quinn plans on mastering that look. She’s got the eyebrow arch down. She’s got the ‘I’m bored and you aren’t impressing me’ look down. And she’s got the cheerleader fake smile down. Next, she plans on learning a few of the different styles of glares Santana is so good at.

The girl squeaks under Santana’s heavy gaze and grabs her friend, dragging her from the room.

“Bye!” Brittany says, waving at them.

“Any particular reason you chased them from the room without even moving?” Quinn asks, leaning back on her hands and lounging on the bench.

Santana shrugs, going back to her primping. “They were bugging me.”

Santana has a little too much spunk for the persona Quinn is still building to want to borrow more than the glares, and knows she could never pull it off herself. But aligning with Santana is good enough. Santana has enough attitude for the both of them.

And Brittany has enough cheerfulness; as sweet as Brittany is, Quinn won’t be borrowing any of that. It reminds her too much of Lucy, who was meek and nervous and too kind to people, letting them walk all over her.

If this partnership, this friendship, that she’s slowly building between the three of them works out, then Brittany can be the heart and Santana can be the attitude. And Quinn? Quinn plans on being the leader.

So long as Santana agrees to this plan and falls in line. She still isn’t sure if Santana is using her the same way she’s using Santana, or if the other girl is simply putting up with her for now but hoping she gets cut in the next wave. Santana is hard to read.

“They were just talking, San,” Brittany chides, plopping herself down on the bench next to Quinn. Quinn also can’t tell if Brittany genuinely likes her or not, because Brittany seems to like everyone. She isn’t sure if Brittany is aware of the shift going on, drawing the three of them together, or if she’s just happy to be meeting new people.

Santana rolls her eyes, “Whatever.”

Brittany elbows Quinn, “She’s just cranky because she hasn’t been to the ice cream parlour since school started.”

“B, I told you,” Santana says, turning and leaning her back against the sink. “No more junk food, not if we want to get on the squad.”

“Ice cream once a week can’t hurt.”

“For you maybe,” Santana scoffs.

Quinn looks at Santana, a small smirk on her face. “Is she one of those?” she asks, pointing at Brittany. “One of those girls who can eat anything and never have it show?”

Santana laughs out a, “Yes,” at the same time Brittany pouts and cries, “Hey!”

“It’s true though, Britt. You’re a dancer, you naturally work off anything you eat. Me and Quinn here?” She glances from Brittany to Quinn for conformation as she speaks, “We have to work to look this good.”

For a second Quinn panics. Is Santana on to her? Has Santana figured her out? Does Santana know she’s all a lie?

“But she’s like, gorgeous,” Brittany states, looking Quinn up and down.

Quinn tries not to let her cheeks burn. _Lucy_ would be embarrassed with any sort of praise. _Quinn_ expects it. _Quinn_ shouldn’t be surprised when people compliment her looks. 

“Looks have nothing to do with it,” Santana says. “She’s hot. I’m hot. No arguing there. But we still have to work to look good.”

Brittany gives a big dramatic sigh, flopping down to rest her head on Quinn’s lap. Quinn resists the urge to cheer because, is this it? Are they friends? Is she finally one of them?

“You aren’t fat, San,” Brittany insists.

“No,” Santana replies, shaking her head and smiling a little. Her looks are always softer around the blonde. “I’m just saying we would be if we didn’t work at it.”

“It’s true, Brittany,” Quinn says, finally adding her opinion. “You run every evening?” she asks Santana, still worried that maybe the other girl has caught on to her charade.

“You know it,” Santana laughs and Quinn feels the panic fade. Santana hasn’t figured her out, she simply identifies with Quinn.

_Lucy_ would be awed by the situation. Quinn just shrugs it off.

“I go to dance three times a week!” Brittany argues, her voice taking on a whine. “I work hard too!”

“That’s not what she-” Quinn stops and pats Brittany’s hair before shifting her out of her lap so she can stand up, “Never mind, Brittany. She was complimenting you.”

“Because I’m a good dancer?” Brittany asks, looking back and forth between the two girls.

“Because you can eat ice cream _and_ be a kick-ass dancer,” Quinn answers, smiling. A real smile. She hasn’t had any real smiles like this since school started, all her looks are calculated and perfectly crafted. But around these girls? Quinn finds she does smile.

It’s… odd. Lucy never really had friends before but, is she friends with these two? Quinn only wanted to succeed, make a treaty between them to help her get to the top. She hadn’t expected to win friends out of it. False friends maybe, the bitchy ‘I’ll humour you’ friends the cheerleaders all seem to be with each other. Not genuine friends.

She still isn’t sure though. She isn’t used to this. She doesn’t know where they all stand yet.

Brittany smiles big and wide at the compliment. “Oh, okay.” Then she giggles and gets up to twirl around the room once more.

“Don’t waste all your energy, B,” Santana says, her face gentle as she speaks with the other girl. “We have a hard day of more tryouts tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Quinn adds, “We’ve got some interesting competition.”

“Interesting?” Santana scoffs, shaking her head in amusement at Quinn. “More like lame competition. We’ve got this. They have nothing on us.”

We. Us. Meaning all three of them.

That’s all she needs; she knows now. She’s in. They’re a power group now. They’re going to make the squad, and they’re going to rule.

And she’s won some friends in the process.

* * *

Two months into the school year and she’s made it. Quinn is a Cheerio. And so are Brittany and Santana. They’ve made it. Already their peers’ attitudes towards them have shifted. Now, the three wear their red and white uniforms every day, and from it demand instant respect.

It’s almost eerie, how easily the crowds in the hallways part when one of them walks down the halls now that they are officially popular. It’s amusing, how during the first few weeks people were put off by Quinn’s distant behaviour and hesitation to make friends until she had ascended the ranks of popularity. Now? Other cheerleaders smile at her sneers and quick-witted comments. Boys who were thrown by her icy demeanour now fawn over her. She was pretty before, but with the uniform, now she’s beautiful.

Of the freshmen girls that made the squad, Quinn, Brittany, and Santana are on top. They rule the freshmen. And in the internal social ranking of the Cheerios, the three even seem to have more respect and power than some of the sophomores. No one touches the junior or senior girls, they rule. But they also don’t tend to associate with the younger underlings. Which means Quinn, Santana and Brittany rule the younger girls with cruel comments, snarky sass and condescending smiles.

And of the three? Quinn rules. Quinn is the leader, with Brittany and Santana flanking her on either side.

She and Santana had butted heads at first, both trying for the top spot between them. But eventually, Santana bent, backing down and letting Quinn be top dog. Santana is strong, possessive, and cunning. But she doesn’t have what it takes to be the alpha. She’s better off relying on Quinn to take the lead and leaping in to help when she’s needed. 

The official moment that assured Quinn she had beat out Santana in the number one spot, not just above Santana but above all the younger girls on the team? That was when their coach told her, in front of everyone, “I see a young Sue Sylvester in you Q. You’ve got the passion.” That was the moment everything came together.

Currently, she’s in the Cheerio’s locker room, freshening up after a hard practice. She’s standing at the sinks, fixing her hair in the mirror. She has a date tonight with Finn Hudson. He appears a little dim, but he’s cute, is actually a decent guy, and he’s on the football team, so.

The locker room has slowly been emptying out, and she heard Brittany shoo Santana off a few minutes ago, promising to catch up later. But Quinn isn’t aware that the room is near empty until the silence settles over her. It’s suddenly uncomfortably quiet. Gooseflesh rises up on her arms and her hand stills where it was fixing her hair. 

In the mirror, she can see Brittany a few steps behind her, on foot propped up on the bench as she ties her shoe.

The silence doesn’t seem to upset Brittany, or maybe it does, and that’s why she suddenly speaks, voice clear and happy. “What’s your favourite movie?”

“Um,” Quinn says, picking up her hairbrush.

“Come on, Quinn,” Brittany says, switching feet. “Everyone has a favourite movie.”

“ _The Notebook_ ,” Quinn eventually says, because that sounds like a good response. Girls love that movie. It’s about love and it makes you cry and stuff. All the popular girls love it.

“My favourite is _Jumanji_ ,” Brittany replies easily.

Quinn’s hairbrush clatters into the sink. She sucks in a shaky gasp as her whole body freezes, muscles clenching in fear.

_No._

Looking into the mirror her eyes meet Brittany’s. The other girl doesn’t look malicious or conspiring or angry. She looks calm, her eyes gentle but inquisitive. Quinn’s stomach drops just from seeing the look. Brittany is standing a few paces behind her, hands clasped behind her back, looking intently at Quinn, waiting.

Quinn can’t move.

“Have you ever seen it?” Brittany asks when Quinn doesn’t say anything. But her tone of voice implies she already knows the answer.

“You know.”

Brittany wears the shiest of smiles as she nods her head slightly.

Quinn’s hands are shaking; she grips the sides of the sink, forcing them to stop. Her head bows, looking down into the drain and sucking in a deep breath. Her whole life, the life she built for herself, is about to crash and fall apart.

But still, even as the illusion unravels, she is still Quinn. _Lucy_ would cry. _Lucy_ would be weak and ugly and pathetic. But she isn’t Lucy, not anymore. She’s Quinn, and she’ll cling to that as long as she can. _Quinn_ takes things with dignity, with confidence, her head held high. _Quinn_ won’t go down without a fight.

Slowly, she turns to face the other girl. Her hands grip at the sink behind her, grounding her to something solid as she faces Brittany head-on. Her heart is pounding and she can feel the blood draining from her face. Her life is about to end. A second time.

“When?” she hisses.

“After the first cut for Cheerios,” Brittany answers, looking apologetic.

Weeks. She’s known about Quinn for _weeks_. Was she waiting until the moment Quinn reached her highest? Waiting for the perfect moment to rip the rug out from under her? 

This can’t be happening.

“How?” she chokes out, her voice a hoarse whisper. She will not cry. She refuses to cry.

Brittany’s face softens further, clearly not liking seeing Quinn so distraught. “I don’t know…” she gives a helpless shrug. “I’m good with people? I just… you felt familiar. From the first day, I knew I recognised you from somewhere. I had to really think though, you… you look different. Your eyes though. You have the same eyes.”

“I wore glasses,” Quinn snaps. It’s the only thing she can think of to say.

Brittany sighs at her, and it makes Quinn feel very small.

“Your name was Lucy before,” Brittany says after a while, shifting on her feet. Quinn can’t tell if it’s because she’s uncomfortable or because she feels bad.

“Lucy’s dead,” Quinn spits. “Lucy’s gone and never coming back. I’m not her anymore.”

Brittany’s voice is small and hesitant as she asks, “Why?”

“Does it matter? She’s gone.”

“It matters to me,” Brittany says, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I hated her. I hated who I was. I was sick of-” she pauses, words stalling as every single thing she hated about herself comes to mind. There are too many things. “Everything!” she says, because that sums it up. “I was sick of everything in my life, I hated everything. _Every single thing_ about who I was. Lucy was broken-down and dying, she was weak and pathetic and _I_ _hated her!_ ” She’s breathing heavily by this point, but the words vomit up from inside her, unstoppable. “People hated her and abused her and bullied her until there was nothing left, until she couldn’t stand on her own, until there wasn’t a _point to exist_ anymore. So I killed her. I killed her and buried her and she’s as good as gone now. She _isn’t_ coming back. I’m _Quinn_ now.” She stresses her name, wanting Brittany to understand.

Brittany doesn’t look like she understands though. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled in a thin line. Brittany is the type of girl who loves everyone. She may get annoyed with people, have people she dislikes, or dislike parts about them. But she’d keep it to herself. And maybe there are things about herself she doesn’t like, her hips or her ears or how she comes off to people and how they treat her because of it. But Quinn is sure Brittany could never understand, because Brittany has never _hated_ herself, not like Quinn has. The girl standing before her does not have the capacity to loathe every single thing about herself. To detest herself so much that she would rewrite herself, to rip and shred and hack away at everything she is until there’s finally something acceptable, something she can use, to build from, to start over with.

That is what Quinn did. And Brittany will never understand.

They stand in silence a long moment; Brittany blinking sadly at her and rocking on her feet, Quinn clutching the sink behind her and trying to calm everything that is swirling around inside her. She’s a typhoon of emotion. Everything is falling apart for her, and all she can think about is how much Lucy hated herself. How much Quinn hates Lucy. How much Lucy hated the type of girls Quinn chose to become. How much Lucy, locked away inside her, hates Quinn.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany says. “I’m sorry you… that…” her eyes plead with Quinn’s. “I’m sorry.” Then she looks down, ashamed.

Quinn doesn’t know if Brittany is apologising for asking, or if she’s apologising for Quinn-Lucy-whomever’s self-hatred.

“Why didn’t you say anything,” Quinn asks, once she’s calmed down and her hands are at her sides, no longer clutching the counter. “You knew, this whole time you knew. You could have ruined me.”

Brittany’s eyes lift to meet hers. She looks anxious, afraid of the monster she’s awoken.

But Quinn pushes all the hatred down, locks the monster away with Lucy, and keeps her tone even. “You could have ruined me; told everyone I wasn’t a real cheerleader. You could have told everyone I was actually a fat, ugly kid with glasses and a big nose. A shy, friendless loser.”

Brittany blinks at her, but not in confusion. Quinn doesn’t know what the look means, the look Brittany is giving her. It looks like a mix between… surprise and disappointment.

“You could have told Santana,” Quinn goes on when Brittany doesn’t speak. “You could have told her about me and the two of you could have ruined me, you could have ruled without me. Why drag me along, when you knew what I was, what I had been.”

“Because you changed.”

Quinn doesn’t understand the other girl's answer. What kind of answer is that? “What does that mean?”

“You…” Brittany frowns slightly, organising her thoughts. “Once I realised it was you, that you had changed who you were… you did it for a reason, right? I didn’t know what it was, but you… I mean, clearly you worked hard to erase everything you were.”

She takes a slow step closer to Quinn, “You changed. It didn’t matter who you were, you changed yourself. You lost your little girl baby weight and dyed your hair. Got…” she squints, “a nose job? And got eye contacts and became athletic. You aren’t shy or nervous like you were. You rebuilt yourself for a reason. That’s why I didn’t tell.”

Quinn still doesn’t understand. She shakes her head, insistent, “That doesn’t make sense.”

Brittany edges closer. She takes a slow breath and tries again, looking apologetic because she can’t manage to explain so Quinn will understand. “You changed. You may be… harder now, not as soft or light like you were. You may be a little colder, with more confidence and inner-strength. But you did it for a reason.” She reaches forward, fingertips touching Quinn’s cheek. “Why would I question that?”

Quinn is unsure how to deal with what Brittany has just said. That doesn’t… that still doesn’t make sense inside her head. Brittany is trying to be a _cheerleader._ She’s friends with _Santana_. Why _wouldn’t_ she try and bring down the competition?

“But why keep me around?” Quinn snaps, slipping out from under Brittany’s touch and away from the sinks. Then she spins, facing Brittany once again. “You had Santana, the two of you could have been cheerleaders without me. You would have made it on your own, you could have ruled without me. Why didn’t you tell Santana, isn’t she your best friend? Why wouldn’t you tell her? You two could have had fun, tearing me apart. Why not try and break me?” It’s what everyone did. Everyone she knew, all the kids at her old school. They took every chance they got to try and break Lucy into pieces.

Brittany is still looking at Quinn like she can’t believe Quinn doesn’t get it. She doesn’t look mad, like she’s upset Quinn would think so little of her. She wears a sad grin, like she’s frustrated with and pities Quinn, but she still wants to help her.

“Because,” Brittany finally answers, “Because Lucy was just some girl I knew a long time ago, and Quinn is…” She pauses and Quinn holds her breath, unsure what the other girl will say. “A friend?”

Quinn feels the whole ground slip away from her, leaving her floating. The edges of the locker room blur around her, but it’s almost like a light shines brighter on Brittany.

She wasn’t expecting Brittany to say that.

Her lips part, eyes widening in astonishment. She breathes out, but can’t form any words.

Brittany is giving her a hopeful look. “We… we are friends, right?”

Quinn swallows. Then she nods. “I… I think… yeah.” Her words are quiet, afraid to be spoken.

“Good.” Brittany walks towards her, and for a second Quinn flinches, unsure what to expect. Then Brittany is pulling her into a gentle hug, arms squeezing slightly around her. She leans back, smiling at Quinn, and Quinn feels like she’s eight years old again and she’s done the right thing in Brittany’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter who you were. This is who you are now, and that’s okay. Everyone deserves to be who they are. Everyone deserves to be happy.”

She gives Quinn one more tight squeeze before stepping away. Brittany walks over to her locker and shuts it, picking up her backpack from the floor.

Quinn feels at ease. Brittany hasn’t told. Brittany won’t tell. And Brittany… Brittany really wants them to be friends. Quinn turns to look back in the mirror, watches herself as she smiles. She’s never really seen her own genuine smile, not since she became Quinn. She knows she has _been_ smiling, usually when around Brittany and Santana, but she’s never seen it.

She picks up her bag at her feet and turns, finding Brittany watching her with a gentle, satisfied look. “I have one question, though.”

“Okay,” Quinn says, a little nervous.

“Before, when you were L… when you were at my house,” she corrects. “You used to move so… softly, hesitantly. But when we’re at practice,” she frowns, trying to find the right words. “You don’t just have confidence, you actually know what you’re doing. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

The pattern from when she was so much younger continues once more, as if she were eight years old and still living in Brittany’s house. Every time she thinks she has the world figured out, Brittany teaches her something new. From teaching her how to hug, to how to make-believe, to how to make friends, now Brittany’s helping her to learn that not everyone is out to get her.

Quinn doesn’t answer Brittany’s question. She simply smiles, tightens her grip on her bag, and walks past her, letting her hand brush past Brittany’s as she does so.


End file.
